


La Mascarade Infernale

by EmeraldStormborn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cocksure Snape, Established Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fighting prejudice against gay characters, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, In which George offers a discount on magical cockrings, In which Lucius loses his shit, In which Xenophilius tries to force snorkak toenails on Snape, Post-War, Romance, Severus Snape Lives, Wall Sex, Wedding Planning, masked sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:40:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25660750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldStormborn/pseuds/EmeraldStormborn
Summary: Severus Snape reluctantly attends a masquerade ball, and lays eyes on a mysterious witch in a bronze mask who entices him entirely.  However, there may be much more to her than he realized.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 44
Kudos: 277
Collections: Hearts and Cauldrons Discord Members





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> _I originally published this in 2018 to ff.net and AO3, removed it along with all my other fanfics, and now reposting as some seemed to enjoy. The usual disclaimers I apply, I don't own any of it! Originally beta'd by my friend Sabrina who is sorely missed._

* * *

Before entering the grand ballroom of Malfoy Manor, Severus tied the black half-mask around his head, scowling at the idiocy he felt in donning it. Half of the time he wasn’t sure why he even entertained Lucius’ grand schemes. Lucius Malfoy had been trying ever so determinedly throughout the years to win back the respect and admiration of Wizarding Britain. His latest attempt was a masquerade, held in the honor of his son, who had just completed his Divination studies abroad at a wizarding university in Sweden. He did seem to be genuinely proud of Draco, but he also salivated at the idea of being able to host Ministry officials and others whose favor he sought to gain. It wasn’t so far-fetched, Severus had to admit. The Ministry bigwigs did so enjoy any excuse to have a party.

In truth, a masquerade might not be all bad. His black suit and cravat were a simple affair, as was his black mask; not following the baroque patterns he noticed everyone else seemed to have. He had never been someone to put on airs. Although it was still quite plainly Severus Snape under the mask, he felt a degree of security in wearing it. Perhaps fewer people would clamor over him, making him into something he was not - a supposed “war hero.” The title never sat well with him. Perhaps he could support Lucius and still live as an introvert for the evening.

Nodding at the door greeter, he strode into the ballroom, searching the area for the platinum blonde hair of Lucius, figuring his old friend was the place to start. He had no intention of going up to anyone else and starting a discussion. He wasn’t keen to socialize.

His gaze flicked over a group to the side of the dance floor, and then he did a double take. An exceptionally exquisite witch had caught his eye; in fact, she had seized his full attention.

It was as if she were a beacon drawing him in, and he drank his fill of her. An intricate bronze mask solidly covered the top half of her face, but curled up in wisps to the sides, giving it an almost Fae-like appearance. She stood next to a tall, wide man, listening to him converse with a trio of wizards in front of them, a glass of red wine in her hands. There was a hint of a smile tipping the corners of her mouth, as if she were vastly amused by what was being said; as if she were so far above the conversation that she wouldn’t deign to add to it. The way her full, wine-colored lips twitched sent a flicker of heat through him, and that heat only built stronger as he continued to examine her. A low-cut, forest-green velvet gown hugged her curves, displaying the smooth skin of her long legs, falling a couple of inches above her thigh. His hands itched to grab hold of her lush derriere encased in the luxuriant fabric. Her coffee-colored curls were gathered smoothly and skillfully into an elegant twist, displaying a long, graceful neck. As she turned toward the man next to her and said something quietly, he feasted upon the sight of the sun-kissed skin of her back, the backless dress showcasing the hollows of her shoulder blades to perfection.

She was quite the spectacle. He wasn’t the only one following the sway of her hips as she moved toward the bar to refill her glass. His gaze lingered on her hungrily, and he knew in that moment that by the end of the masquerade, he would be leaving with that witch. 

A hand suddenly clasped his shoulder. 

“Severus,” Lucius murmured, and shook his hand. “I’m glad you’re here. I want to be seen speaking with the Minister, and I know Shacklebolt thinks highly of you.”

He reluctantly tore his gaze from the masked witch and regarded Lucius with a frown. “I’m hurt, Lucius. You would use me?” His words were mocking, poking fun at the fact that a man who had once been at the top was now reduced to using Severus as a way to gain favor among the elite.

“Why else would I invite you?” Lucius jeered. 

He led Severus to a group of wizards discussing the Dark Arts, not missing the opportunity to simper on about how dangerous they were and how he had learned the hard way. His tone was so convincingly contrite that even Severus was impressed.

Lucius continued to lead him from group to group, to one official after the next, calling out their names jovially.

“I believe the point of a masked ball is to keep an air of mystery about you,” he taunted Lucius. “May we just approach Kingsley directly, instead of this farce of you working your way to the top?”

He was ignored as they came to stand in front of yet another group of people he could only assume were employed by the Ministry, if the tone of Lucius’ voice was any indication. 

Severus realized then that they were before the tall man who had stood next to the mouthwateringly beautiful witch he had been eyeing. He wondered where she was. Was this man her date? Her lover? Severus raised a brow. He didn’t much care what the man was to her. That witch would be his by the end of the night.

As if his thoughts had summoned her, an enticing succubus haunting his consciousness, she approached and settled at the man’s side, her small hand twining into the crook of his arm. She gazed up at Lucius with an unimpressed slant of her head, and then her eyes flicked to Severus.

From across the room, he hadn’t been able to see her eyes clearly. If he’d thought her lips were appealing, they were no match for her eyes. Two deep pools of cinnamon stared up at him with unmistakable interest, and damned if his breath didn’t catch in his throat.

“And you are?” Lucius purred from beside him, clearly beheld by her spell. Severus could feel his ire rise.

“Famished,” she replied cheekily. She tilted her head up at the tall wizard beside her. “Can I bring you anything from the refreshments table?” Her eyes glanced to Lucius. “Mr. Malfoy has provided quite the spread.”

The man patted her hand and shook his head. “No thank you, my dear. I haven’t been asked to dance quite as much as you.” An indulgent smile crossed his face. 

She smiled back up at him, and Severus felt an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. If she became any more beautiful, he wasn’t sure how he would be able to handle it.

She excused herself and turned, all three men watching her depart in silence. 

Not content to be jerked around by Lucius any longer, when he could instead be pursuing her, Severus also excused himself and took long strides to catch up with her. 

He met her at the table to the side of the ballroom, splayed with various scrumptious dishes, watching as she debated which item she would choose. 

Gathering his gumption - for Severus Snape was not usually an agent of seduction - he stepped close to her and murmured, “I daresay you look more delectable than any of this.”

He noticed her body tense briefly, and then she relaxed as a smile formed. “How very bold of you,” she replied, glancing up at him over her shoulder. Something about her was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. He surely had never laid eyes on a witch such as she. 

“Do I know you?” he asked of her, his brow arching. She looked away from him, focusing again on the food in front of her.

“I doubt it,” she said softly, and something about her voice compelled him. 

“Do you work at the Ministry?” he inquired, inching closer to her, unable to help himself. 

Suddenly, she twirled to face him, her body caught between his and the table. She regarded him with a curious expression, before murmuring, “Are you going to ask me to dance, or are we to spend the evening exchanging pleasantries?”

A wolfish grin broke out on his face. She was a saucy little thing. He offered her his hand, not saying a word since she had already guessed his intention, and she took it without hesitation. Electricity shot up his arm at her touch, and he could tell she was breathless. Thank Merlin, something about him had drawn her in.

They took to the floor, and he immediately stepped close to her, their bodies less than an inch from each other. Her hand curled around his shoulder, and he nearly groaned at the feel of her soft skin exposed by her plunging dress as his hand rested on her lower back. It was as if their bodies fit perfectly together, moulding against one another as though they were two pieces of a puzzle. His chin brushed her forehead as he led them in a lazy sway around the floor.

_She’s mine_ , Severus thought to himself, a self-satisfied smirk upon his lips.

“I seem to be the object of much jealousy,” he informed her, darkly amused as other wizards watched them dance with envy apparent on their faces, even with their masks covering them.

He felt a shiver ripple through her. Ah, his voice. He’d been made well aware of the effect his voice could have on a woman, though it was beyond him. He’d oft used the deeper tones to intimidate, but upon the realization that this woman in particular seemed to be especially affected by it, he used it to his advantage. 

“I cannot blame them,” he told her, caressing the words slowly. “You are a vision. I noticed you the moment I entered the room, and I, too, felt jealousy toward the man beside you.”

Her head tilted back so that she could meet his gaze, and stared at him intently in silence for endless moments, assessing the validity of his words. 

“Nothing to feel jealous over,” she told him softly, belying her fiery gaze. “I am a free woman.”

“Not for long,” he practically growled, his satisfaction paramount when her eyelashes fluttered and her little pink tongue snuck out to wet her lips. He pressed her indiscernibly closer, his burgeoning erection evident, he knew, for her beautiful eyes widened and a small gasp left her throat.

Severus lowered his dark head, holding her tightly to him. “Come with me,” he breathed against her ear, lips brushing her cheek. 

At her barely noticeable nod, he halted their dance and turned to pull her toward the back of the ballroom. He knew Malfoy Manor well, and he knew exactly where he could take her for a bit of privacy.

She allowed Severus to pull her outside to a beautifully ornate balcony, where draping ivy fell over the marble railing. He didn’t give her much time to survey the area, however. He felt impatient to press his lips to every inch of her, to worship her as a goddess should be worshipped. He pressed her against the stone wall and took fierce possession of her pouty mouth, pleased as he heard a moan escape her. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she kissed him back in returned fervor, melding her body to his as if she just couldn’t get close enough to him. 

He thoroughly plundered her mouth, his tongue tangling with hers ardently as his hands slid down over her waist to clutch her arse. He wanted to be inside her. Merlin, did he want this woman in his bed. 

There was only one problem: His nose was irritated incessantly by her blasted mask. He unwillingly tore his mouth away from her, lifting his hands to remove the bronze piece from her face.

“No!” she protested, her hands wrapping around his wrists and pulling them down. “We mustn’t.” She cleared her throat, licking her swollen lips as she panted softly. “It’s a masquerade, remember?”

He inclined his head, a puzzled look on his face. “Who gives a fuck about the mask, woman? I want to know every inch of you.” He started toward her again, but at the panicked look in her eyes, he halted. He felt impatient, yes, and a mite perturbed - but something about her brooked gentleness in him, a tenderness he hadn’t known he was capable of. “I’ll go first, if that will put you at ease.” He reached up and untied his own mask, pulling it from his face, giving her a wry smile. “Is that better?”

Her eyes burned with an emotion he could not name. She reached out and touched his cheekbone, caressing him softly with a sad smile.

Then, before he could blink, she turned and rushed through the glass doors, mingling with the crowd of the ballroom.

A roar escaped him as he attempted to pursue her, but a lively dance had overwhelmed the dance floor so that couples were spilling onto the sides. He couldn’t even spot the green velvet of her dress.

“Ah, Severus!” Lucius called, and made his way over to him. Oblivious to Severus’ fury, he raised his glass in greeting. “Enjoying yourself?”

Severus ground his teeth together in an attempt to hold back his anger. Where had she gone? And why had she fled from him, with no explanation whatsoever? She’d wanted him, nearly as much as he had wanted her. 

“Come, help me find Draco. I just made the acquaintance of a pureblood girl in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. They’d make a splendid couple, her hair is the color of Narcissa’s…”

Lucius blathered on, guiding a still-fuming Severus around the room as he had before, eager to be seen with the wizard Harry Potter had testified years ago to the Wizengamot as the “bravest man he ever knew.” 

As Lucius scanned the crowd, Severus’ eyes stayed on the double doors of the ballroom, narrowed in wrath. He had wanted to leave _with_ her, not watch her slip out of his hands like a whisper of silk. He should have Apparated them away, instead of taking her to the balcony. He’d been inexplicably caught up in the romance of this infernal masquerade. 

“Draco’s walking out with Harry Potter,” Severus muttered to Lucius, whose gaze followed to where Severus was looking. 

“What are they doing? Surely Draco doesn’t mean to leave his own ball!” Lucius started forward, but stopped short. “No…” he trailed off in disbelief. “No!” he roared. He surged toward them, very much resembling the man he had been during his Death Eater days.

Severus followed, seeing that Lucius had caught the two young men in an amorous embrace. _It’s about time_ , he thought drolly. The way those two verbally sparred was some of the most bizarre sexual tension Severus had ever witnessed. 

Lucius was outraged, of course, and he was lucky he hadn’t made a scene as of yet. Casting a wordless _Muffliato_ toward them all to prevent a commotion, he passed by them into the foyer. He was disappointed however, as the elusive witch was nowhere to be seen. 

_Blast it all to hell._ He shook his head in frustration. He was going to find that witch, and he was going to make her _his_. 


	2. II

* * *

There was no sign of the witch. He had nothing to go off of, no clues to research. He was at his wit’s end at not being able to find her, but also that he had allowed her to get under his skin in such a way. He had sworn long ago that he would never let another person have so much power over him - not after Lily, not after Dumbledore, not after Voldemort. He was weary of letting others have any kind of control over him. But Merlin’s beard, this stranger had bewitched him on a level he couldn’t deny, much less escape. The fire in his blood was raging. How long had it been since he had gone after something for himself? It was high time he followed his own wants and desires, and that masked witch was calling to him. He would find her, and he would have her. There was no other option.

Yet, almost a week later and he was still empty-handed, and nearly ready to capitulate, telling himself daily that he was being uncharacteristically foolish. He toyed with the idea of asking Lucius to host yet another ball, which would probably be no problem for one of the richest wizards in Britain, except that since Lucius had learned of where his son’s romantic interests lie, he had gone on a rampage. _Best to leave that idea behind,_ Severus admitted. 

Then it occurred to him, rather belatedly, that perhaps if he visited the newly-outed couple, and showed them his memories or described his mysterious witch, they might be able to offer assistance. Draco, being a Malfoy, should have been acquainted with every person who had attended; and Harry, as one of the most popular figures of his age, would certainly know many of those who had been there. 

And so it was one troubled evening, having owled Draco a few hours previously, that he found himself standing on the cobblestone street in front of the former headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. 12 Grimmauld Place hadn’t changed much in the past six years, but there was a modicum of relief within him as he approached the building knowing he wouldn’t be given another seemingly impossible task in which he would need to risk his life again. 

Sternly commanding his heartbeat to slow, he lifted his hand to knock. This was his last-ditch effort to find his mystery woman. 

Draco opened the door, a wide smile on his face. “It’s good to see you. We’re all in the library having tea.” He stepped aside to allow Severus entrance, then closed the door and raised his wand to set the protective wards back in place. “We have a friend over, I hope you don’t mind.”

Severus inclined his head and followed Draco down the narrow hallway to the library. He would have prefered to meet them privately, but perhaps their guest could be of assistance, too.

Harry looked up, as did the woman beside him, whom he recognized as Hermione Granger, given the frizzy mop on her head and the intensity with which she had been scrutinizing the book in her hands. They were standing near the vast wall of books which extended on both sides of the fireplace. Her eyes widened at the sight of Severus but she quickly dropped her gaze back down to her book, and urged Harry to listen to whatever discovery she had just made.

Severus’ nose wrinkled in distaste. She had always been a thorn in his side. He found her incredibly irritating; though, to be fair, he hadn’t seen much of her in the last few years. After the plethora of Ministry events in honor of the end of the war and its heroes, they hadn’t had much reason to be in contact. But just the blasted tone of her voice as she read to her friend made him narrow his eyes. She was still a know-it-all, and probably insufferable, too.

But as his eyes traveled over her, noting the differences the years had brought, there was something familiar about her. Her long legs, mostly covered by a knee length pencil skirt, sparked a memory in him. As his eyes roved over the curve of her shapely arse, his brow furrowed. Surely she was not the witch he had been seeking… No, no, he was just so focused on his mystery woman that he was imagining things.

As Draco bade him to sit on the sofa in front of the fire and called to the others to join them round the coffee table, Severus’ gaze remained on the Granger girl. His nose wrinkled again in dislike as he watched her sit down primly in a chair opposite his, straightening her conversative, button-up blouse - which was buttoned all the way to the top - and throwing her frizzy hair over her shoulder. She was not even close to what he had encountered at the masquerade ball. There was _no way_. Resolving that he had thoroughly eliminated her as a possibility and intending to ignore her for the rest of the time he was there, he turned to Draco and Harry.

“I came for information about the masquerade,” Severus told the two young men, without preamble or further explanation.

Hermione, who had just been reaching for a teacup, clattered the item abruptly. They all looked at her in confusion.

“Hermione? Alright?” Harry asked, brow pinched in concern.

A titter of nervous laughter escaped her, and she nodded, keeping her eyes downcast. “Yes, thank you.”

Draco and Harry swung their gazes back to Severus, who was growing impatient. 

“So? What about the masquerade?” Draco asked, impatient to hear why Severus had come.

Severus frowned, regarding Hermione suspiciously as she inconspicuously cleared her throat. Could they not have told that chit to go home so he could be here in private? He turned to Draco once more, though he remained distracted. “There was a woman.”

Draco howled in laughter, and Harry joined in, the two of their bodies shaking with mirth. “There were many women,” Draco replied sarcastically. “No doubt they were women my father thought I’d rather enjoy.” 

He exchanged a wicked look with Harry, and Severus very nearly made the juvenile motion of rolling his eyes. If they were like this after only a week, he shuddered to think what they might be like after a month together. 

He gathered his next thoughts, about what kind of clothes and mask the mysterious witch had worn. From the corner of his eye, Severus saw Hermione gather the long length of her frizzy brown tresses, twisting them up and securing them at the back of her head. She reached forward again for her tea, and sipped it carefully, staring down at the book in her lap as if she weren’t keenly aware of their conversation.

Eyes narrowed, Severus took in the sight of her as she sat across from him. His gaze traveled over the graceful, delicate curvature of her neck. Bewildered by his silence, Draco and Harry waited with befuddled looks for him to continue; but he simply sat and observed Hermione, who finally lifted her head to look at him questioningly, her cinnamon eyes connecting with his obsidian ones.

It hit him like a freight train, taking the breath out of his lungs, making him feel as if he had been punched in the gut. 

“ _It’s you,_ ” Severus snarled.

The widening of her eyes and the sudden drop of her jaw confirmed his words, and he surged up from his chair to stalk toward her menacingly. 

Harry was in front of him in an instant, hands up to hold him off. “Wait just one minute,” Harry said in a warning tone. “What is going on here?”

Draco stood too, moving next to Harry, the two of them establishing a solid wall in front of Hermione, who had pushed up from her chair as well and hovered behind them appearing like a frightened rabbit.

Severus sneered at them, his eyes not leaving Hermione. “It’s her,” he grit out through clenched teeth. 

The two young men stared at him, utterly flummoxed. 

“Um, yes. It’s Hermione. Who has been here the whole time…?” Draco’s voice was tentative but pointed in his attempt to make Severus realize he was acting barmy. 

“ _She’s the one from the ball,_ ” Severus bit out.

Draco stepped up to him, speaking to him as if soothing a beast. “You aren’t making sense,” he told him gently. 

“I didn’t know my presence would upset your visit,” Hermione announced to the three men. “I’ll come back later.” She inched around Harry and made for the door. 

Severus was on her in seconds, caging her against the shelves of books next to the fireplace, his hands on either side of her head. His eyes roamed over her face, taking in her fiery eyes and pursed lips. Her defiance only made him angrier. He had spent a week searching all over for the woman from the ball, only to find out that she was actually one of the most irritating creatures he’d ever had the misfortune of meeting. Disappointment was broiling in him, frustration and anger bubbling dangerously together just under his skin.

“I would thank you to move,” she said indignantly. 

He leaned his head down toward hers, causing her to look away. The smell of her perfume washed over him as his head dipped lower, and a surge of electric fire spiked through him as he remembered the scent. “You were at the ball, were you not?”

Her gaze snapped back to his. “What ball?” she asked innocently, her tone edging on sarcasm.

His nostrils flared. “Do not toy with me, Miss Granger.”

“Why are you bullying her?” Harry called from behind them. “She’s allowed to attend a ball. I invited her.”

“Well, I invited her; you and her, Harry. She made for quite the distraction,” Draco corrected, a note of pride in his voice.

Severus closed his eyes, trying to reign in his control. He had completely forgotten that Harry and Draco were still in the room. Images floated through his brain from the night of the masquerade. His witch had attended with a tall, unrecognizable wizard. Hermione bloody Granger, on the other hand, had attended with Harry bloody Potter. Perhaps he was being unreasonable. Many women had brown hair and brown eyes. And surely her perfume was a widely-used one. And no, that hadn’t been her graceful, delicate neck he’d been nuzzling that fateful evening. 

His arms dropped and he folded them quickly, staring down at her in displeasure. “My apologies,” he said uncomfortably. “It seems I’ve mistaken you for someone else.”

Hermione stood to her full height and lifted her chin. “I’d expect better manners from you,” she told him prissily. She stepped to the side to address Harry and Draco. “I’ll come back when you have less volatile company.” Turning on her heel, she left the room, shutting the door behind her louder than necessary.

Draco put a hand on Severus’ shoulder. “What in the bloody hell was that all about?” He guided him back to his chair, and poured him a cup of tea. 

Utterly chafed now, Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. “That infernal masquerade, I knew I shouldn’t have gone. But for your father’s ridiculous pleas, or rather, incessant guilt trip…”

Harry sat down next to Draco, his face still showing his displeasure about how his best friend had been treated. “What has that got to do with Hermione?”

Severus felt like a dog with his hackles raised when her name was spoken. With as much patience as he could muster, he spoke to them clearly and succinctly. “I met a woman at the masquerade. Green velvet dress, bronze mask.” He ran a hand distractedly through his hair. 

“Oh, well that makes sense. Hermione wore that,” Harry nodded, and sipped at his tea.

Head snapping up, Severus glowered at them both. “What did you just say?”

“Do you remember when I picked that dress out for her?” Draco asked Harry absentmindedly, not noticing the way the older man’s face was mottling with rage. Draco took on a high-pitched feminine voice, clearly meant to imitate Hermione. “‘Slytherin colors? Malfoy Manor and Slytherin colors, how atrocious.’” He and Harry chuckled. “But I have an eye for these things. It fit her perfectly, and she was divine.”

Severus sat forward, his body tense. “She accompanied a tall wizard I’d never seen before.” His voice was quiet and serious. This was not the same witch. Could not be. 

Harry smirked. “She came with me. Draco and I hadn’t intended to come out together so soon. I wanted to be there for him but also go unnoticed by everyone else, so I used Polyjuice and took Hermione as my date.”

Recalling his memories from that night, Severus remembered wondering why, when Lucius had caught Harry and Draco, Harry’s clothes had appeared to be so ill-fitting. _Fucking hell._ It had all been right in front of him, all along. He had, on some level, recognized her that night, but had quickly tamped the feeling down. He remembered the way she had caressed his face, her dainty hand sliding down the length of his cheekbone with the saddest look in her eyes. Of course she’d known exactly who he was, the little chit. Why had she run?

_Because you acted like this when you found out_ , Severus castigated himself bitterly. Hermione Granger and her friends had been the bane of his existence for seven years of his life, topped only by a dark wizard psychopath and a moonstruck headmaster who believed he could bring about world peace. He had always been dumbfounded that she, indeed the brightest witch of her age, would put herself in such precarious positions. And vastly intelligent as she had always been, the fact that she consistently shoved it onto others at every turn had made her one of the most unbearable people to be around. He didn’t know much of her now, except that she had used her talents well and was serving dutifully in the Ministry of Magic’s Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures… and apparently went weak-kneed at the sound of his voice in her ear.

He rolled his neck to ease his tension. Did it matter that his mystery woman had turned out to be her? Did it really? He didn’t want a relationship with her; he merely wanted to quell the ache her body had created in him. 

Of course, it didn’t matter much now. She had fled from him again, only this time he had welcomed it like an utter pillock. 

“Severus, we wanted to speak with you about something, too,” Draco suddenly said, wrenching him out of his thoughts.

Nodding and waving a hand for him to continue, Severus willed his mind not to stray to Hermione.

“Harry and I are having a bonding ceremony at the end of the month. We’ve been in love for years and now that I don’t need my father’s financial backing to get through university, we want to move ahead and bond with each other before anyone can try to tear us apart.” Draco leaned forward. “We want you to attend,” he told Severus graciously. A sly expression crept across the young man’s face. “And I was hoping you might convince Father to calm himself. I’m prepared to be without his money - doesn’t mean I want to be.”

Severus raised a brow, considering the request carefully. These two young wizards had caused him a world of grief, responsible for bringing the Granger girl to the masquerade, in resplendent beauty, which he’d been floundering over all week. 

Cunningly, he replied, “I will attempt to persuade Lucius for you.” There was a pregnant pause, then he added his stipulation. “ _If_ you secure a meeting for me with Miss Granger.”

The look that crossed both Harry’s and Draco’s face would have been comical, had he not been gravely serious about his request. 

Suddenly Draco smiled impishly, and offered his hand to Severus, who shook it. “Done,” he said triumphantly. At the raised brow from Severus, he continued smugly, “She will be at our engagement party next week. You’re invited.” 

Appeased for the time being - though he felt somewhat hoodwinked - Severus stood to leave.

“What is going on with you and Hermione?” It was a question from Harry, who still sounded concerned for his friend.

“I believe that’s none of your business, Mr. Potter,” Severus replied smoothly, no trace of harshness in his voice. He’d regained some semblance of control over his emotions, thank Merlin. Now he needed to plan how to gain control of _her_.


	3. III

* * *

He was beginning to wish he had never struck a deal with his godson. 

For the past half-hour, Lucius had hardly surfaced for air during his tirade about his son’s romantic leanings, pacing around his study ceaselessly. Severus was surprised he hadn’t ruined the immaculate marble flooring. It was bizarre that a grown man - a former Death Eater, no less - could whinge for such an extended amount of time. Severus did not have the patience for this, and he wasn’t even sure what he could say to ease the situation. 

“And with Potter of all people? What he could possibly see in that boy, with that ridiculous scar?” Lucius huffed, threw back his head, and downed his fourth glass of brandy. Then, in an uncharacteristic display, he dropped unceremoniously into his large armchair beside the fireplace. He tossed his blonde mane around dramatically, pointedly glaring at the wall. 

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to attain some semblance of calm. “So, does the problem lie with Draco being gay… or, that he is gay for Harry Potter?” 

Lucius frowned at him, his grey eyes disapproving. “Have you not been listening to a word I have said? Draco is the Malfoy heir, and it is imperative that he produce another Malfoy heir.” His tone was one of exasperated condescension. “Merlin, Severus, sometimes I wonder about you.”

Severus merely raised a brow, lips pressed together tightly. There were a myriad of ways he could respond to his old friend, but he had an end goal that he refused to jeopardize with his usual snide remarks. 

“I almost killed Potter, you know.” Lucius sighed wistfully, a finger idly tapping his knee. “When he set me up so that I unwittingly freed my house elf, I very nearly ended him. What an unfortunate missed opportunity.” He waved his wand and summoned the bottle of expensive brandy that he was so fond of. He gripped the decanter and upended it into his mouth, foregoing his glass. 

“That line of thought will accomplish nothing,” Severus admonished. “You are a reformed man, remember?” He smiled wryly at his friend. Lucius had mellowed from the sinister man he once was, but he was hardly reformed. 

Lucius glanced up at him eagerly, and it was clear that sly thoughts were now percolating in his devious brain. “Do you think, perhaps, if I supported this… _relationship_ ,” he allowed, his lip curling briefly in disgust, “might I gain the favour of old enemies?” His eyes were wide with excitement. “Perhaps that was Draco’s plan all along. I knew he had it in him.”

Severus bit back a snort. It was clear the two young men felt deeply for each other, but if Lucius chose to believe Draco had constructed his affair with Harry to bring honor back to the Malfoy name, so be it. He was actually making progress with this blasted persuasion. Perhaps smoothing over these rough edges would also gain Severus favor, as well; only he sought it from one person, and one person only. 

“I have no doubt that the Malfoy family will reap untold benefits from being tied to Harry Potter. It may very well be that, one day, no one will remember your role in the war. If Harry Potter can forgive and forget, why shouldn’t everyone else?” Gods, but he was really laying it on thick, drawing on every ounce of his Slytherin cunning in an attempt to solidify Lucius’ approval of Draco’s union with Harry. This farce of a conversation needed to be over, or else he would start charging Lucius by the minute for therapy sessions.

Lucius finished his brandy, and hurled the bottle across the room where it smashed to pieces in the fireplace. “Then it’s settled. I must make known my consent right away. I will pay for an announcement in the Daily Prophet.” He stood and headed for the door.

Severus frowned. “Where are you going?” Rude of Lucius not to offer him one last refill of firewhisky, when he had just allayed the man’s fears.

“To see Narcissa,” Lucius replied over his shoulder. “We’ll need to produce another heir, and with haste.”

That was _definitely_ Severus’ cue to leave. 

* * *

Hermione rushed around the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place, checking over her notes spread down the long dining table. Even she could admit it was a bit much, but she was a perfectionist; had been all her life, and would not start apologizing for it now. Her best friend was undertaking one of the most important rituals of his adult life, and she would have it be flawless from start to finish. Of course, she had hardly obtained a wink of sleep in the past week. Between her duties at the Ministry and the planning of Harry’s engagement party, she was a bit overwhelmed. 

She had been trying, rather valiantly, to keep her mind off a certain dark and brooding figure who had thrown a spanner into her usually calm and collected state. _Goodness Hermione, what were you thinking?_ she chided herself scornfully. Severus Snape was one of the most intelligent men she had ever known, and it was inevitable that he would find her and unleash his wrath. The simple fact was that she had not been thinking at all that night at the masquerade ball. Her senses had been wholly overtaken by him and the way he had prowled after her. There were not many men who could make her weak in the knees - in fact, she hadn’t met one single man who could do such a thing, hence her continued solitary status. 

It chafed, admittedly, seeing all of her friends married off while she floundered, waiting to meet an equal who could fulfill her on every level. It was maddening, attending events like Malfoy’s silly masquerade, where she was pursued by every available wizard in the room; a few charms and glamours and they were clamouring over her. None ever lasted, though. Not when they could barely hold a conversation, and not when they discovered she wasn’t as fancy all of the time. 

Snape had appeared out of nowhere. Her stomach fluttering, her body singing, her brain reeling at the possibility of an intelligent conversation for once, she had been swept away by his dark sexuality and the intensity he had radiated. She could still feel his hands on her skin, as if she had been branded. Somehow, though, she knew he would be downright displeased if he discovered it was Hermione Granger behind the mask. He had never been fond of her. After he had healed, she had attempted to win his favour at the few events he had attended after the war. She, along with Harry and Ron, had saved his life, after all. Her attempts to win him over had always proven utterly futile. 

It galled her that she had finally obtained his attention due to the fiery little number Draco had insisted she wear, and the beauty charms she had applied, as well as a mask which concealed her identity. She snorted in self-disgust. 

“Why the long face, Granger?” Draco asked as he sauntered into the kitchen with the box of supplies she had requested. 

She shook her head to clear it and refocused on her parchment. “Ensuring you have a grand party has become quite the task,” she replied airily. 

“Hermione,” Harry said exasperatedly, “we’ve told you we can hire someone to do this. We don’t want to put you out.”

She lifted her eyes to meet his sincere gaze, smiling softly. “Don’t be silly. I’ve almost got everything in order. In two days, you will have the most sensational engagement party there’s ever been.”

Draco pulled out a large pouch from his robes, and set it beside her on the table. “A little something to make it even easier to accomplish your task.” His eyes glittered with a secret satisfaction.

She opened the pouch and gasped. “Merlin’s pants! Where did all of this come from?” The bag was chock full of galleons, the gold coins sparkling in the light of the kitchen.

“Good old Uncle Severus came through,” he replied proudly. “My father is on board. This is our funding for the party, and you can expect triple that for the ceremony.” 

Hermione’s heartbeat sped up at the mention of Snape. “How…?”

“Severus always did have a way of talking sense into my father,” Draco told her smugly. “Somehow he managed to convince him and my mum that supporting me and Harry would win him all kinds of accolades and esteem from the Ministry elite.”

“Clever,” Hermione replied, trying to sound nonchalant. Why would Snape do such a thing for them? Draco might be his godson, but Snape did not seem the type to act as intermediary in matters of love. Of course, what did she know of the man? He’d had her nearly coming from just the sound of his voice last week. Clearly, she was not very familiar with post-war Snape. _Wouldn’t it be lovely to be, though?_ her inner voice whispered silkily.

“Speaking of Snape, Hermione,” Harry piped up as he glanced over her various pieces of parchment littering the dining table, “What is going on between the two of you?”

“What?” she squeaked, then cursed inwardly at the obvious failure to conceal anything.

“Ah, so there _is_ something there,” Draco purred salaciously. “Spill it, Granger.”

“It is absolutely none of your business,” she told them haughtily, giving them each a warning glare. 

“Hermione,” Harry began appeasingly, “when Draco and I first snogged, I told you before I told anyone else. Surely you wouldn’t hold anything back from me?” Harry’s eyes were pleading with her, which had always been hard to resist.

She took a deep breath. “Oh, alright,” she ceded slowly. “At the masquerade, Snape and I… danced,” she confessed, not looking at them.

Draco folded his arms across his chest. “And?”

“And… he might’ve taken me out to the balcony where we snogged passionately for a few minutes,” she rushed out in one hurried breath. She could feel the blush creeping up her cheeks with the revelation, partly from remembrance of the spectacular occurrence and partly from pure embarrassment.

“Granger, you tawdry slut!” Draco exclaimed, an evil grin breaking out on his face.

Her mouth fell open in a gape, but she quickly snapped it shut and served him with a withering glare. “You’re the one who insisted I wear that slip of a dress to a proper ball,” she all but growled.

“Blow me,” Harry said in awe, eyes wide. “No wonder Snape was so agitated the other night. What happened after that?”

Shifting her eyes from Draco’s smug countenance, she considered Harry’s intrigued gaze. “I ran from him,” she admitted sheepishly. When Draco whistled forebodingly, she continued in a sensible tone, “He was trying to take my mask off. He would have been furious if he had known it was me.”

“Oh, Granger,” Draco drawled, shaking his blonde head sadly. “He’s furious alright. And wound up so tight he would probably shag you on first sight,” he warned. 

Hermione fought a delicious shiver, hoping her reaction to that particular thought was not written all over her very readable face.

Harry stepped up beside her and touched her shoulder. “We… kind of… Well, we told him who the woman in the green dress and bronze mask was,” he admitted hesitantly. He suddenly grinned at Draco. “It all makes sense now; that man was shaking with rage.” He smoothed Hermione’s hair over her shoulder. “I’m afraid he’s gunning for you now, Hermione.”

She rolled her eyes and walked away from them, sorting through the box that Draco had brought. “I am quite sure, if Snape is now aware it was me that night, that he will avoid me like the plague.” Gods, she hoped not, but she simply did not see him actually being interested in her now. “The masquerade was a silly thing, and certainly the worst idea Harry and I have ever had,” she concluded resolutely. “Now, let’s make sure we’ve covered all our bases,” she told them, picking up one of her parchments and scanning it. 

It would not do to dwell on unattainable infatuations. 


	4. IV

They were late, Apparating to the party with a thunderous _crack_. 

Lucius always insisted on being fashionably late, so greatly obsessed with his image that he never failed to make a grand display of his entrances. Severus would have preferred to arrive by himself, discreetly, so that he could move around inconspicuously. It was imperative, however, that he kept a sharp eye on his old friend at this event. He felt reluctantly obligated to see that Lucius’ engagement party behavior was proper. He needed both Draco and Harry on his side in the pursuit of his witch. 

His eyes found her immediately, and he couldn’t help the smirk he felt creep across his lips. Gone was the Hermione Granger he had encountered at 12 Grimmauld Place; she was transformed once more into the vixen from the masquerade ball, the one to which he had been instantly drawn. An asymmetrical violet dress adorned her nubile body, leaving one shoulder bare while the other arm was encased in the slinky fabric. One side fell just to her knee, while the other hitched higher around mid-thigh. Her hair was tamed, half of it rolled into a bun at the back of her head while the remainder of her brown tresses fell softly over her shoulders. She was, in a word, exquisite. He couldn’t wait to get her alone.

But wait he must. He wanted to ensure Lucius remained composed before he went off on his own. Narcissa would aid him in that, of course, but even she was not altogether comfortable with the idea of her son being in love with a man - especially a man who had once been Draco’s greatest rival.

His eyes surveyed the area, taking in any hidden niches that could be of use to him later when he was finally alone with the unmasked witch who had been bedeviling his thoughts. She had done an excellent job with the setup for Draco and Harry’s engagement party, hosted in the yard of the Lovegood family. He had heard about a rather explosive discussion with Molly Weasley, in which she had sworn no Malfoy would ever step foot in her home. Draco, in writing to Severus, had expressed a considerable amount of gratitude to Luna Lovegood, who had attended university with him and was happy to host their engagement celebration on neutral territory. Hermione, Draco had explained in his letter, was meticulous in her planning of the event, and he now considered her as a sister. Severus had nearly spat out his morning coffee upon reading that particular tidbit.

Beside him, Lucius sniffed the air disdainfully. “I suppose my galleons weren’t entirely wasted, but what is that preposterous excuse for a band?”

Severus followed the blonde man’s outraged gaze to the center of the tented area, which opened expansively to accommodate a dance floor and a stage, where the most absurd-looking band was playing. A centaur with wild blue hair was banging forcefully on a drum set, while a goblin played a bass guitar; next to him appeared to be the lead singer, a heavily muscled house elf who was strumming a guitar while crooning into the magical microphone. Luna Lovegood stood in the back, intermittently jangling a tambourine. 

“Hello father,” came Draco’s voice from behind them, and Severus turned to flank Narcissa and Lucius like an ominous enforcer. 

“Son,” Lucius greeted tersely. 

Draco and Harry stood before them holding hands, both young men appearing spirited and bright. 

“We are glad you’re here, you know,” Draco told Lucius, attempting civility toward his clearly perturbed father. 

“I imagine so. Don’t think for one minute I forgive you for traipsing off with this-” Lucius stopped short as he spotted the Minister of Magic approaching from the side. “Ah, Minister Shacklebolt!” he greeted with a delighted smile.

Severus inclined his head to Kingsley and scanned the room for Hermione. As long as the Minister was around, Lucius would behave himself.

He caught Draco eyeing him, and met his gaze with a raised brow. Draco jerked his head twice to the side, and Severus glanced over to the right to see Hermione alone next to the refreshments table, scrutinizing it carefully. A curl of lust caressed his insides, and he started toward her purposefully.

She looked up as he approached, her eyes widening a split second before her face hardened. Her reaction only solidified his determination, and he strode forward with renewed purpose. Abruptly, he came to a halt as a blinding clash of orange robes stepped into his path.

“Severus!” the jovial voice of Xenophilius Lovegood greeted him. The slightly cross-eyed wizard reached out to shake his hand, which Severus instinctively recoiled from, but then scowled and shook the proffered hand quickly. He wondered in what universe Xenophilius thought it was acceptable to call him by his given name, but let it go - he had more important matters to attend to. 

“Good to see you, excuse me,” Severus murmured brusquely, and attempted to step around the tall, white-haired man. He caught a glimpse of Hermione watching with an amused smirk on her face, and when his eyes met hers she raised a brow in challenge before returning her gaze to the refreshments table. He nearly growled. 

“Oh, but I have been wanting a word with you,” Xenophilius said insistently. He wrapped his arm around Severus’ shoulders, trying the very tattered remains of his patience, leading him towards the edge of the tents next to an entire section of dirigible plums. “Did you receive my owl about the rare ingredients I may be able to collect for you?”

Resisting the urge to swipe his hand over his face in exasperation, Severus nodded. “I have been quite busy.”

“Oh, pish posh!” Xenophilius countered, a manic smile accompanying his words. “It’s summer! Let us plan a trip to the Forest of Kilsbergen. There have been confirmed sightings of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. In a single one of its toenails you will find the potency of ten other potions ingredients combined!”

 _Not this again_ , Severus groaned to himself. Xenophilius was eccentric at best, but more likely needed to be committed to St. Mungo’s with a bed right next to Gilderoy Lockhart. He had neither the time nor the inclination to indulge the man’s lunacy. His eyes slid to the table where Hermione had been, and he cursed under his breath to find her gone. 

“I’ll consider it,” Severus groused, in an attempt to quell the barmy wizard. He turned to take his leave. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“Hello there, Professor Snape,” a dainty voice said. He looked over his shoulder to see that Luna had joined her father, and was blinking up at him serenely. 

A muscle beginning to tick in his jaw, he faced the father and daughter duo resignedly. This was their home, and Luna had always been one who had treated him kindly without fail - even as a student when he was the nastiest git around. They deserved better manners from him, reluctant though he may be. 

“Miss Lovegood,” he greeted, with a nod of his head. “Congratulations on your graduation. Draco spoke of your invaluable help to him. Divination, was it?” 

She nodded, white hair bouncing. “I also minored in magical creatures, of course.” 

He gave her a tight smile. “And is that where you met your… band mates?” he asked, arching a brow as his gaze swept over the stage and the ragtag group performing upon it.

“Oh, yes,” she replied dreamily. “Aren’t they wonderful?”

“Quite,” Severus replied distractedly. From the corner of his eye, he had seen Hermione step back up to the table, scanning it again and scribbling notes on a piece of parchment. “Best of luck with the plums,” he murmured to the Lovegoods, not even quite aware of what he had said as he stalked toward the table. 

Hermione did not look up from her parchment as he came to stand perpendicular to her. “Professor,” she greeted distantly, her quill scratching across the page as her brows furrowed.

“Miss Granger,” he replied, moving closer to her. Crowding her against the table, just as he had at the masquerade ball. “No mask to hide behind now,” he taunted quietly, raising a dark brow. All of his senses were on alert and hungrily honed in on her. 

She bit her lower lip, her quill stilling. After a quick glance up at him, she stepped back. “Excuse me,” she said dismissively, turning to enter what appeared to be a magically altered tent acting as a holding place for all of the extra refreshments. 

He followed, undeterred by her obvious discomfort. She turned and her mouth opened to no doubt vehemently protest his presence, but he did not stop. He backed her up until she was caught between his body and one of the columns holding up the tent. Her eyes were fiery with indignance over his aggression, but he noticed the slight quiver of her body, a tell-tale sign he recognized as anxious anticipation. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” he asked her, his voice dangerously soft. “You were mine as soon as I laid eyes on you, witch.”

She bristled at his statement, heat flooding her cheeks. “You are unbelievable,” she muttered.

“What is unbelievable is that you, a know-it-all princess, has me completely enthralled.” His gaze dropped to her lips as she wet them nervously. “Why did you run from me?” he demanded of her, his eyes glittering dangerously.

“You are proving why, right now,” she told him sourly. “Like it’s the most bizarre idea that’s ever been imagined, being attracted to Hermione Granger!” Her fiery cinnamon eyes pierced through him in a pointed glare. “I wanted you. I didn’t care that you are twice my age, my former professor, or even the meanest man I’ve ever met. I wanted you.” She closed her eyes and shook her head, as if she were so incredibly disappointed in herself. “But I knew the same could not be said for you, if you discovered my identity.”

He stared down at her for a moment, trying to summon his control. “That’s not good enough.”

Her mouth dropped open and she gaped at him. “Not good enough?!”

“You bewitched me, bespelled me,” he drawled slowly, caressing the words with his voice in the way that he knew would affect her, “and then left me high and dry. Lack of nerve is not a good enough reason.” He smirked at her, quite pleased with the expressions crossing her delicate features as she struggled to counter his accusations. Before she could challenge him, he lowered his head and whispered teasingly against the corner of her mouth, “I thought you Gryffindors had more courage than that.”

Her eyes darted to his, and then suddenly their lips met in a passionate kiss. A deep moan escaped her throat as he pressed her fully against the column and ground his hips into hers. She was the most responsive creature, her breathy sighs sending darts of pleasure through him as their tongues tangled wildly. One his hands curled around the nape of her neck, and he angled his head to kiss her deeper, while his other hand smoothed over the curve of her arse, hauling her as close as physically possible. 

She raised one of her slim legs to hook around his hip, and he groaned deeply. He was painfully aware of the insistent straining of his rock-hard cock against his trousers, desperate for the heat he could feel between her legs. He had been craving the feel of her body against his for nigh on two weeks, and he let the uncontrollable fire of their mutual attraction rage through him, eager to go down in flames as long as it was with her.

“You are fucking delicious,” he whispered silkily against her mouth, relishing her sweet gasps for breath as his lips traveled across her jaw and down to her neck. “I want to taste every inch of you.”

There was a sudden upheaval outside the tent, and the rising voices of Draco and Lucius could be heard. 

“I will not hear you speak of her in such a way,” Draco’s usually pleasant tenor voice was shrill. “She has been the only one to show us such support!”

Lucius’ voice was haughty as he replied, “And where is Miss Granger now, hmm? Her choice of entertainment is inexcusable; but to fail to replenish the canapés, after all I have contributed to this ridiculous party? Indefensible.” 

Hermione gasped in his arms and attempted to extricate herself from Severus’ embrace, but he pinned her to the column with his leanly muscled form. Fuck Lucius and the high horse he rode in on. He was not going to let that prat ruin this opportunity. His hand slipped under her dress, and his nimble fingers found the triangle between her legs, stroking purposefully, causing her head to fall back against the pillar from the incredible sensation.

“We aren’t finished,” Severus growled against her shoulder, nipping it sharply.

“I have to go!” she whispered urgently, her hands alternating between gripping his shoulders in ecstasy and feebly trying to push him away. 

“I suppose this is to be expected from a Mudblood,” the voice of Lucius interrupted again, and the hated word cut through both Hermione and Severus. 

His jaw clenched dangerously as he met her wide eyes. Forcing himself away from her delectable body, he rolled his shoulders, his glare on the flaps of the tent. He was going to kill the bastard. It was a terrible insult Lucius had uttered, to be sure, but the fact that his raving had ruined what Severus had been looking forward to for weeks was enough to have his anger roiling. Striding forward, truly vexed and beyond sexually frustrated, he exited the tent and came to a halt before Draco and Lucius.

“As it so happens, I was assisting Miss Granger in retrieving the next round of your precious canapés,” Severus informed Lucius tightly. “I would thank you to desist in the use of that timeworn slur, Lucius. We have all heard enough of it.”

Had he not been so riled, the resulting looks of shock from both Draco and Lucius would have been humorous. As it was, he simply glowered at the both of them while he attempted to reign in his very thin control and nearly nonexistent patience.

He felt the flaps rustle behind him, and Hermione stepped out with her wand in the air, directing two hovering plates of hors d'oeuvres in the direction of the refreshments table. She didn’t spare any of them a glance. 

* * *

Hermione felt she had done an admirable job of weaving through the powder keg that was the engagement party. Narrowly avoiding Snape for the rest of the evening - though she could almost feel the burn of his gaze on her any time she was near him - and evading the Malfoys had proved difficult, but doable. She maneuvered herself away from the dance floor any time she found herself nearing it, for she had no desire to participate in a mundane waltz with any wizard but Snape; contrary to her feelings, however, she had no intention of dancing with him, knowing what the man did to her insides and to her apparently traitorous body. She had even resisted a dance with Harry with whom she readily enjoyed partnering, because she was positive Snape would swoop in and lead her in the next dance.

She had roped Ginny in for additional help in keeping the refreshments stocked, and so that she wouldn’t be caught alone in that blasted tent again. Every time she entered to retrieve another tray, her eyes strayed to the column she’d been pressed against and a blush burned her cheeks. Although Malfoy’s words had pricked at her, she was secretly relieved his arrogant refrain had interrupted Snape’s seduction. She would have let the man shag her right there in the tent, and she was beginning to wonder if she truly was a tawdry slut, as Draco had teasingly called her. To be fair, no other had ever inspired such behavior from her. It was as frustrating as it was exhilarating. For the first time in a very long time, she was in over her head, and it was deliciously exciting.

As Luna’s band began their final song, she found herself sitting beside Ron at the table nearest the refreshments, patting his back in a soothing manner, wishing she had chosen the dance floor instead. 

“‘Mione, you know how they say you can’t help who you love?” Ron asked petulantly. “Well, I can’t help who I hate. And I hate Malfoy. Between you and me, I think Harry should be committed. He’s gone completely mental.” 

She swiped a hand across her face with an inward groan. After all these years, she was still acting as their go-between. She realized she was beyond exhausted; of course, it was her own fault she was enmeshed in all of her current situations. She had been obstinate about championing Harry and Draco, she had knowingly enticed Snape two weeks prior, and she had ignored the warning bells in her head and took a chance to sit next to Ron at the current moment. 

“Ron,” she began patiently, surprised that she had any left, “if you would only give him a chance, you would see that Draco has changed.” Well, that wasn’t a total lie. He was still a pompous prat, but he was a pompous prat who loved Harry and was genuinely trying to love Harry’s friends.

Ron began to reply, no doubt with barely contained malice, but the final song ended, and Hermione stood and stretched.

“I need to see everyone off. Are you and Chantelle staying at the Burrow tonight?” she asked, referring to his devastatingly gorgeous - though admittedly mostly brainless - French wife.

“Yeah. Mum would love it if you dropped in for a nightcap,” he suggested hopefully.

She smiled wryly. Molly was furious that Hermione had so staunchly supported Harry and Draco. Hermione was sure she would not be welcomed with open arms at the Burrow tonight or for the foreseeable future. Still, she squeezed Ron’s hand and said, “Maybe,” before taking her leave.

As the guests converged on Harry and Draco to wish them well before departing, she stood just behind them, accepting the pecks and embraces of anyone who had remembered to thank her for the party. Kingsley gifted her with a warm hug, as did Neville and his wife Hannah, who were two of the nicest people in existence and were actually thrilled for Harry and Draco.

Surprisingly, Narcissa Malfoy shook her hand delicately and brushed a kiss across Hermione’s cheek, much to the annoyance of her husband who barely inclined his head before heading to the Apparition point. _Well bugger you too, old man_ , she thought snidely. Malfoy Senior had been noticeably pleasant the rest of the evening, after Snape had set him straight, but it was clear from his earlier words that he was just as much of a tosser as he had ever been.

Finally, Hermione accepted the embrace of Harry and Draco, blushing prettily under their high praise and heartfelt gratitude. Just behind them stood the man she’d been trying to ignore all evening, lingering with Professor McGonagall. She shared a laugh-inducing group hug with the grooms-to-be, ever aware of Snape’s gaze on her.

McGonagall patted her shoulder affectionately after delivering her praise, and joined Harry and Draco in their walk to the Apparition point, leaving Hermione alone with Severus. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest, her insides feeling like mush as his glittering dark eyes held her spellbound for endless moments.

Breaking the growing silence with the first thing that came to mind, she said, “Harry and Draco mentioned that you are the reason Draco’s father has calmed.” She tilted her head slightly, gazing up at him calculatingly. His actions had been eating at her and a question had been at the forefront of her mind. “Why would you do that for them?” she questioned softly.

He raised a black brow, a knowing smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. She was dying to kiss him again, breathless with it.

“I didn’t do it for them,” he corrected, his deep voice rolling through her in sensuous waves. “I did it for you.” He took hold of her hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles as she stared up at him in astonishment. “Goodnight.”

 _Merlin’s pants,_ was all she could think, as she watched him glide away.


	5. V

* * *

“I believe the problem is that you were bitter rivals at school; not that you are two men,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. She took a sip of her tea and let the warmth flow through her and soothe her. Tensions were high in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place, as they plotted how to win over Harry and Draco’s naysayers. Despite all of his bravado, the rejection was starting to wear on Harry, and neither she nor Draco were willing to let it continue. 

“Okay, so what does that leave us with, Granger?” Draco uncrossed his arms and stepped away from the kitchen counter, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “Fuck all, is what!”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a drama queen. We will work through this.” Her gaze slid to a dejected Harry, whose visage was grim. Draco’s growing vexation was not helping his intended, and it was feeding into her mounting disgruntled state. 

Draco snorted. “By the end of the month?” he questioned her in a disbelieving tone. “Even you cannot make that kind of magic happen.” 

Her cheeks heated and she opened her mouth to reply, but a loud alarm signaled that someone had approached the wards. They had been expecting Draco’s mother, and so with a disquieted shake of his head Draco exited the kitchen to answer the door.

“I didn’t know it would cause so much trouble,” Harry said sadly, adjusting his glasses on his face. “It’s my life. If they care about me, they should support me. I mean, you have.” 

He was looking so forlorn, she could barely stand it. She stood and moved to his side of the bench, sliding in beside him and wrapping her arm around his. Her heart hurt for him, and she wasn’t sure what to say. She was just as disappointed in Arthur and Molly, in Hagrid and Seamus and Dean, and even in Ron - even though he attended, it was grudgingly, and his best friend deserved better from him. 

“It’s just not fair. And I know it probably sounds dumb, but I want them there. I want everyone I care about to be there. Why does it all have to be so difficult? Do you think I’m making the wrong decision? Do you think-”

“Harry. Stop.” Hermione turned Harry’s face to hers, her hand briefly cupping his cheek. She looked him sternly in the eye. “You love him. Right?” She asked the question already knowing the answer, and he nodded sheepishly. “You are allowed happiness, Harry. You love him, and so you must focus on that. Nothing worth having is ever easy,” she informed him with a teasing smile, pleased when he smiled back at her. “Everything will work out.”

From the doorway, three pairs of eyes watched the exchange between the best friends. Two were teary, two was calculating. Severus cocked his head as he listened to her words, discomfited by the feelings Hermione’s little speech evoked in him. He almost felt… touched, by her effort to console her friend. 

She was back to her conservative clothes and frizzy hair again, and he was surprised that he didn’t find it off-putting in the least. If anything, the rigidly buttoned-up blouse and proper work trousers she wore only served to encourage his imagination to run amok, and her wild hair reminded him of how eager he was to tame her. 

When Draco cleared his throat and entered the kitchen, Harry and Hermione looked toward them. Hermione’s eyes widened at the sight of Severus, and he wasn’t sure if he was becoming irritated with that reaction, or if it excited him. 

“Hello Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry greeted, nearly tripping over himself to get to Draco’s mother. 

Hermione stayed seated at the table, eyeing her notes with uncertainty. Draco’s hand ghosted over her back, and she looked up at him with worried eyes; but at his soft, almost inaudible “thank you,” she lit up with a smile that took Severus’ breath away. He distractedly accepted a handshake from Harry, his eyes never leaving Hermione.

“Hello,” Hermione greeted Narcissa with a hesitant smile. Her eyes flitted to Severus and she murmured softly, “Hello, Professor.”

Narcissa eyed the table where notes were haphazardly strewn. She quirked her lips at Draco and told him, “We shall have to go shopping for furniture, and soon.”

“It’s on our list, Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry assured her. “I’m looking forward to Draco making this his home just as much as it is mine.”

She seemed pleased with that, and sat opposite Hermione, leaning over gracefully. “So, my dear, where can I be of assistance?”

Severus seated himself next to Narcissa, across from Draco and Harry. He did his best not to stare hungrily at the witch next to the two young men, who was blushing with delight that Narcissa was being so helpful and kind.

“We weren’t expecting you, Sir,” Harry said. “I wouldn’t have guessed wedding planning was your forte.”

Severus raised a brow. “There is the matter of the stag party,” he informed them. He didn’t give a fig about a stag party - wasn’t even clear on how that worked with two stags in the picture - but was pleased when his statement made Hermione’s eyes swing briefly to him. He did want his godson to have a wonderful wedding and happy life, but his reasons for being present were not for that. He meant to get as thoroughly under Hermione Granger’s skin as she’d been under his, and if that meant he had to suffer through tedious wedding planning, so be it. By the time he had the opportunity to seduce her again, she would be begging for it.

* * *

The next day, Hermione was sitting at the table next to Harry when Draco entered the kitchen with Snape trailing behind. She knew her expressions could be read like a book, and right now it was puzzled. Surely Severus Snape had better things to do than participate in wedding preparations. She waited for an explanation, but Draco ignored her questioning gaze, and when it swung to Snape he simply gave her a challenging smirk and she blushed and looked away.

“Hermione,” Harry said, turning to her. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you sooner. And you can say no, you know, with as much as you’ve got on your plate.” He took her hands in his and gave her his best beseeching eyes, knowing she was nowhere near immune to it. “Will you… stand with me? On the day?”

“He wants you to be his Maid of Honor,” Draco teased.

Harry shot an annoyed look at him over the rim of his glasses. “Actually, being that you’re the bride in this relationship, I’d say the professor is your Maid of Honor.”

Hermione’s mouth gaped open. She stared at Snape who raised a dark brow in warning.

“Do not make me rescind my acquiescence, Draco.” His tone was steel, but Hermione saw a glint of amusement in his obsidian eyes, and she felt her heart rate accelerate. He had a sense of humour, underneath his foreboding persona. He was the most enigmatic man. She wondered what it would be like to hear him laugh. 

Draco actually looked nervous, not having realized Severus was teasing him. “Okay, I’m sorry, continue.” He gestured to Harry.

Harry turned back to her and squeezed her hands, drawing her out of her reverie involving the dark figure sitting opposite them. “So, will you?”

She couldn’t resist a laugh at Harry’s anxious tone. “You know I will. As if I could deny you when you look at me like that.” She accepted his tight hug, tucking her chin over his shoulder and grinning at Draco.

The blonde man held her gaze as she eased back from Harry. “Since Severus is the Best Man, I asked him to be your assistant for the evening,” Draco informed her, his eyes glittering mischievously. 

“My assistant?” she repeated with a slight squeak. Her eyes darted to Snape’s, who was gazing at her intently. 

“Indeed, Miss Granger. I will be most devotedly yours that eve.” A smirk toyed at the corners of his mouth. “Available to help you with… whatever you should require.” His dark gaze bore into her, making her feel, all at once, breathless. 

The tea kettle whistled shrilly, and she jumped. “Tea’s ready!” she announced unnecessarily, leaping up from her seat to attend to it. 

“I can get it,” Harry offered, but she was already at the stove. 

“So we need to have your robes coordinating,” Draco continued determinedly. 

“I was going to try on a variety of things on Friday,” Hermione told him distractedly. Coordinating robes with Snape. The idea was almost laughable. Draco was a sneaky ferret; despite the fact that she and Snape were the most natural choices to stand by Harry and Draco as they took their vows, she was sure he was attempting to orchestrate something bigger. 

“Great! Then Severus can go with you,” Draco shot back, leaning around Snape’s back to wiggle his eyebrows at her.

She made her way back to the long table with a tray and set it down in the middle. “Okay,” she hesitantly agreed, meeting Snape’s eyes briefly. Did he have to be so… intense? All of the time? Maybe it was just the stress from planning the ceremony and trying to reign in the naysayers that had induced her sudden trembling like a Victorian debutante. “I was thinking of Madam Malkin’s…”

Draco’s face screwed up in disgust. “You dirty peasant,” he teased haughtily.

She glared at him. “Shut your filthy mouth.”

Harry laughed deeply. Severus glanced between Hermione and Draco with a raised brow, and couldn’t help the smirk that graced his lips as the two began shaking in laughter. Many years ago, it certainly would’ve ended differently. Hermione had clearly accepted Draco as her friend and learned how to navigate his bouts of innate arrogance. He wondered, as he watched her laugh, if she could accept him in the same way.

But then what was he thinking? He didn’t want her to do that. She was an itch he desperately wanted to scratch, and that was all. Who in their right mind would want to be saddled with a bushy-haired know-it-all? He was sure, after he’d had his fill of her, that he could just go on with his life. He had been deriding himself the past couple of weeks that instead of putting his energy into his next conquest - even after all these years, women fell in line for a chance to tup the dark war hero - he had been solely focused on having her in his bed. Or hers. As long as he had her.

“Well then, Professor,” Hermione addressed him, a smile on her face, “Friday?”

He nodded. “Friday it is, Miss Granger.”

“It’s Hermione,” she replied, her cinnamon eyes holding his gaze. He could tell she was hesitant about offering such, and a strange warm feeling flooded through him. 

“Hermione,” he said, caressing her name with his velvet voice, a burst of satisfaction filling him as her eyelids dropped to half-mast. “What time?” he asked, a smirk playing at his lips.

“She has several errands to run that day. Right?” Harry asked her, reaching for the sugar. “Don’t forget to go to Gringotts for me.”

Hermione cleared her throat. _My meddlesome boys,_ she thought exasperatedly. As if she needed any more stress. “As if I would forget something so monumental,” she replied, her gaze finally leaving Snape’s. She shifted uncomfortably on the bench and reached for the milk. “I suppose I should be in Diagon Alley rather early, but you can meet me later,” she offered, not looking up.

“Nonsense,” Severus replied. “I am your… assistant, after all,” he drawled. He saw Draco grin beside him. “What time?” he repeated his question.

Hermione pursed her lips. “Half past ten. I can meet you in Flourish and Blotts,” she offered. 

“Excellent.” He turned to Draco. “Have you considered your vows?”

Hermione exchanged a glance with Harry. Never would she have guessed Snape would willingly be at Grimmauld Place, planning a wedding and concerning himself with vows. She’d thought she knew him. But perhaps she’d been wrong. He was full of surprises and he seemed very eager to reveal some of them to her. She fought a shiver and looked down at her notes. Friday was going to prove very interesting.

* * *

Her fingers caressed the spines of the books before her, trailing over them reverently as she inspected each one. She would always find excuses to come to Flourish and Blotts, eager to worship the wealth of knowledge within its walls. The last thing she needed was another book, and yet, that didn’t stop her from leaving with a new one each time. Her flat was filled to the brim with books, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. It was a healthy obsession, she’d insisted to her friends. There were much more dangerous things to which she could be addicted.

“I find myself envious of them,” a velvet voice spoke into her ear, and a shiver shot down her spine. _Dangerous, indeed._

She turned to face Snape with a coy smile. “And why is that, Professor?” He was ever striking, his dark, glittering gaze turning her insides to mush. 

He nodded toward the shelves behind her. “Clearly, you are involved in an intense love affair.” He delivered the jest with a devilish smirk.

She laughed softly. “Yes, well… They understand me.” She turned back to the shelf and selected the tome she’d been debating purchasing, _Effervescent Esteem_ by Orion Verne. Perhaps it would aid her attempts to be more social at the various Ministry events she was required to attend.

She gazed up at Snape. “Were you looking for anything, or shall we make our way to Madam Malkin’s?”

Severus considered her, taking in her bright eyes and flushed cheeks. The little witch truly did love books. He supposed he’d known that, based on her Hogwarts years of residing mostly in the library, but witnessing her fierce adoration of them up close stirred something inside him. In all of his years as a professor, he had never seen a woman - nor even a man, beside himself - who craved the companionship of books as she did. Perhaps he hadn’t been paying attention, which was entirely possible given the decades he’d been forced to sacrifice for his spywork. But he was paying attention now, and she made him feel something he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

“Perhaps you might suggest a title for me,” he murmured, staring down at her. “I have been in search of a new friend.”

She broke out into a brilliant smile. “You call them that, too?” She stared lovingly down at the book in her hands. “I’ve always considered them that.” She approached the shelf behind him, brushing the sleeve of his robes as she passed. “My mother used to try to convince me to sell the ones I’d already read, or donate them at least. But I couldn’t do that,” she explained, her fingers stroking the spines of the books before her. “Not to my friends.”

Severus felt his body tighten. Damned if he didn’t want to press her to a shelf and kiss her senseless. She was entirely innocent, in her avid pursuit of a book for him, not realizing the effect of her petting the texts as she bit her bottom lip. There she was, slightly frizzy curls cascading down her shoulders, not a hint of artifice augmenting her face, and robes concealing her curves from his view… And yet, the ache to take her was as fierce for him in that moment as it had been the night he’d spotted her at the masquerade. 

“You might fancy this one,” she suggested, tugging it carefully from the shelf and offering it to him with a furrowed brow. 

_The Compendium of Curious Concoctions (Medieval Period Edition)_. He owned two copies. But what was a third? He had room on his shelf, and he wanted to please her by accepting her recommendation. 

“I have heard this is quite good,” he murmured, brushing her fingers with his as he took the book from her hands. “It recounts Theodosius Bigge’s failed potion meant to counteract the effects of the Black Plague, yes?”

She nodded. “I’m afraid that chapter is rather gruesome, and disheartening too. I’m wondering if you would agree to a slight variant I’ve thought about: Instead of the powdered nettle, perhaps powdered motherwort.” 

“Very good,” he praised, arching a brow. “I’ve proposed to fellow Potions Masters that Bigge should have began with an infusion of motherwort; with that base, he would have stood a better chance.”

She pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing at him. “You’ve already read it,” she guessed. She plucked the book from his hands and returned it to its space on the shelf. She gazed up at him calculatingly. “I just realized choosing a book for you would be as difficult as it is for my friends to choose one for me. I don’t think we have time for it, Professor.” 

He could tell she was disappointed. “Another time, then,” he promised her. “We’ll return and you can begin your hunt.”

She smiled and shook her head, and moved past him to approach the counter so that she could make her purchase.

As they made their way down the cobblestone street to Madam Malkin’s, Hermione tried to tell her stomach to settle down. Someone had released at least a dozen Cornish Pixies in there, and the little buggers were flitting around and turning her stomach upside down. A day spent with the man who had, not a week prior, pressed her to a column and snogged her insensible; whose fingers had deftly delved between her folds to find the throbbing swollen nub therein; whose deep voice had caused gooseflesh to erupt all over her body. It was difficult to relax around him, and she had a sneaking suspicion that he didn’t want her to relax. He seemed to enjoy making her flush under his unnerving gaze, and he was definitely using his silken voice to his advantage. 

They were greeted by a young man upon entering Madam Malkin’s, tripping over himself at the sight of war heroes Hermione Granger and Severus Snape. “And how may we be of service today?” The eager associate swept his arm to indicate the various robes. “You’ll find something for all occasions here.” 

“We are the Maid of Honor and Best Man at a wedding, and we will need matching robes for the ceremony, if you please.” Hermione pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and stole a glance at Snape. Matching robes. How in Merlin’s name was this happening?

The young man smiled flirtatiously at Hermione. “This way, Miss.” 

Hermione looked to Severus. “Come on, then,” she said, when he didn’t move.

“I trust you to choose it,” he replied. 

She balked at him. “You have to try them on, and possibly be fitted.” She snagged his hand and pulled him behind her. “Stubborn man.” A hint of a smile crossed her lips as she looked over her shoulder at him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve shopped for clothes with a straight man.”

He snorted and shook his head. “What have I gotten myself into?” he asked her teasingly.

“We’re here to find out what you can get into,” she retorted, laughing when he narrowed his eyes at her. “Now, Professor, how do you feel about silver?”

Nearly an hour later, she was inwardly cursing Draco for insisting on the cursed colour. Severus Snape in a dark grey suit should be outlawed. The contrast of it with his jet-black hair, and the sharp angles of his body wrapped in the fitted fabric had her breath constricting in her throat. The associate wrapped a steel-coloured robe around him to complete the look, and she tried to appear unaffected as Snape turned to her for inspection.

“Well?” he asked, his expression indicating his doubt.

Hermione released her bottom lip from between her teeth and swallowed. “Erm… those will do nicely,” she remarked nonchalantly. Her eyes roved unchecked over his lean form, and she cleared her throat while rising from her seated perch. “We’ll take it, Pierre. You’ve done extremely well.”

The young man bloomed under her praise, but she was still too caught up in the vision before her to notice. As he scurried away to begin packaging her soft silver dress and robe and eventually Snape’s own clothes, Snape stepped off the slightly raised platform in front of the mirrors.

“I prefer black,” he told her resentfully.

She smirked. “You mentioned that.”

“I admit I’m relieved to have this part over with,” he said as he moved toward the fitting room to change back into his usual attire. “Where are we off to next?”

Hermione tilted her head to the side in puzzlement. “There’s no need for you to suffer through the rest with me, Professor.” 

“Severus,” he murmured, turning to face her. She barely had time to halt in front of him. 

“What?” she asked, meeting his gaze and trying not to focus on how close their bodies were.

“My name is Severus.” 

She breathed slowly. “I know that.”

“Then use it. I’m not your professor anymore,” he mocked gently. “And if you are going to boldly ogle a man, perhaps you should address him by his name.” With a smirk, he turned and entered the fitting room.

_Merlin’s balls._ She’d been caught out. _Dammit, Hermione,_ she chastised herself. She stood on wobbly legs before the door, her thoughts straying to the fact that he was near starkers behind it. She recalled the press of his leanly muscled body against hers, and imagined how delicious he must look beneath his robes. 

“Are you hungry?” His deep voice rose from behind the door.

Was she ever. “A bit,” she answered, not trusting her traitorous husky voice to say more.

The door opened, and he filled the doorway with his imposing black-clad presence. “Did you schedule in lunch?” he asked with a raised brow.

She huffed at him. “Don’t ridicule my time tables,” she muttered. “I hadn’t originally penned it in, no; but we have time.”

She was shocked to hear a soft laugh emanate from him. His eyes crinkled in merriment, and she felt her heart constrict. _Oh gods,_ she thought. _He’s laughing, and he’s beautiful._ She shook her head and turned from him to gather her bag. What was he actually doing there with her? Surely he wasn’t interested in her beyond the physical, and she doubted he even thought much of her in her current state of unattractiveness. She could not let herself get comfortable with him. She refused to get her hopes up, when it was unlikely he would stick around after the wedding.

But as they dined together at the Leaky Cauldron, she couldn’t help but open up to him. He was gifted at drawing her out of her shell, discussing everything from books to her work at the Ministry to his research projects and goings-on at Hogwarts. The things that remained unspoken between them - the brief, heated looks, the suggestive tone he used as he pinned her with his endless obsidian orbs - had her belly coiled tightly. He challenged her in every single way, as no one had before, and it scared the living shite out of her.

After lunch, they made a quick run to Gringotts. Harry had asked her to retrieve his parents’ rings from his vault. They were simple gold bands, thin but lovely, and she secured them in her robes. She didn’t meet Severus’ eyes during the process, unsure of how much it bothered him to have something of James and Lily in his face. His devotion to Lily was what had softened her toward him, all those years ago, when she’d tried to garner his favour after the war. At the time she supposed she had sought the attention of the one professor who’d never shown deference to her, and been overcome with admiration for him and the incredible sacrifices he’d made for the greater good. Now she wondered if she had been attracted to him even then, taken by his dark, unconventional beauty and the danger he exuded. 

He fell into step beside her as they headed toward Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. She appreciated the companionable silence they shared, as opposed to the constant chatter she usually endured when out and about with her other friends. Ginny, for instance, could have her ears incapacitated after a few hours. Sometimes Hermione just craved a quiet moment. The fact that Severus seemed to welcome it, too, was not lost on her. They were similar in so many ways.

“What could you possibly need in here?” Severus asked her, as he reluctantly entered the shop with her. 

“I want to get Harry a gag gift. George just invented this magical inflatable…” She trailed off as she felt her face flush. 

He tsked at her. “So naughty, Miss Granger.”

She ducked her head and hurried down the aisles, struggling to make it in and out of the obscene section of the shop before Severus could catch up with her. She spotted the item in question, boxed none-too-discreetly, and held it down tightly to her side as she turned to scurry to the register. 

She thudded against Severus’ hard body, and drew back swiftly. “I’ve got it,” she mumbled. “Let’s go.”

“Oh, but this is quite intriguing,” he persisted, leaning forward to survey the contents of the shelves. His body pressed to hers again, making her breath catch. “The New and Improved Magical Cock Ring,” he read, his mouth by her ear. “Now that is fascinating.”

She squirmed, trying to get around him. “We really should be going.”

He blocked her with his frame and leaned over her other shoulder to peer at the items on that side. “Bertie Bott’s Special Edition Every Flavor Edible Knickers.” He laughed huskily next to her ear. “Imaginative.”

“Oh my God,” Hermione groaned, feeling as if she’d burst into flames from her extreme embarrassment.

“Hermione?” A head of red hair peered around the corner from down the aisle. “You wanton thing, I just stocked those this morning!” George came strutting towards them, his red brows disappearing into his hairline. “Professor Snape! Enjoying the finest selection of wizarding sex toys on the market?”

“Oh my God,” Hermione groaned again, clutching her hands to the side of her face in growing horror.

“I must say, it’s quite… extensive,” Severus replied, still prohibiting Hermione from escaping. The dark humor in his tone made her want to curl up under a rock somewhere.

“Showing the professor your favourites, ‘Mione?” George waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“George? We need your help finding…” The voice of Molly Weasley trailed off as she came around to stand by George and spotted Hermione and Severus.

_Oh, fuck me._ Any moment now she was sure she’d dissolve into a puddle of horrifyingly embarrassed goop.

Arthur Weasley stepped up to his wife’s side with a smile as he noticed them. “Hermione! Severus. Good to see you.”

_I will not survive this. If I do, I’m hexing Draco’s balls off for forcing Snape on me today._

“Arthur. Molly.” Severus nodded toward them in greeting. “We are in the midst of wedding shopping.” At their widened eyes, he gave a tight smile. “For Harry and Draco,” he added.

Molly huffed indignantly. “Ridiculous. It is just completely ridiculous.”

George rolled his eyes. “Not again, Mum.”

Hermione started forward to begin her impassioned tirade again, but stopped short as Severus leaned against the shelf and crossed his arms, appraising Arthur and Molly carefully.

“And why is it ridiculous, Madam?” he questioned the Weasley matriarch.

She scoffed in response. “Severus, you of all people must see the lunacy of this. Do you know how many times we had to stop Harry from rashly attacking Draco? And oftentimes failed! And Draco, constantly trying to bring him down, jealous of Harry’s notability. Not to mention harassing his friends.” She cut a glare to Hermione.

“People change,” Severus said, and held up a hand when Molly opened her mouth to argue. “The war shaped all of us into different people, Molly. Whether it was through loss, or trauma, or even a moment of inspired bravery. Each of us came out of it altered.” He inclined his head as he considered her. “Life is short, a lesson we unfortunately learned the hard way. Harry loves you both and has been particularly affected by your lack of support. Perhaps it’s time to remember what we fought for.” His eyes shifted to Hermione for the briefest of seconds before he looked between Molly and Arthur. 

_Love._ It had saved Harry, and ultimately destroyed Voldemort in the end. Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been desperately holding, staring up at Severus in wonderment. He was absolutely incredible. She felt lightheaded as she stood in awe of him, wanting to tackle him and rain kisses all over him or at least hug him until he couldn’t breathe. If only she’d been as eloquent with Arthur and Molly.

“You’re right, Severus,” Arthur agreed quietly. He squeezed Molly’s shoulder; the older witch had fat tears spilling down her cheeks. “We’ll see you both on Sunday.”

George watched them go, then turned back to Hermione and Severus. “Half-off on the cock rings for that stirring speech, Professor.” He winked and disappeared around the corner.

Severus turned back to Hermione, and the look of sheer admiration on her face nearly staggered him. He gave her a small smile, and slipped his forefinger under her chin to close her slightly gaping jaw. 

She shook her head as if to clear it, brown curls bouncing around her, and turned from him. “I’ll just… go pay for this.” 

He followed, resisting the urge to gently explore her mind with Legilimency. For all his plans to win her over, he’d meant the words he’d spoken to Molly and Arthur. The sincere effort on his part seemed to have rendered her speechless. She’d clearly been affected by him all day, just as he’d hoped. But his words a few moments ago seemed to have impacted her more than any of his seductive looks or innuendoes.

“One more stop,” she informed him as she turned from the counter, shrinking the wrapped gift and tucking it into her bag. 

“Will you allow me to escort you back to your flat after?” he asked as he walked beside her across the cobblestone street.

“Oh, um.” She pushed her hair behind her ear and bit her bottom lip. “I was actually going to go back to Grimmauld. Harry promised to make my favourite tonight.”

_Damn._ He tried not to let old insecurities get the best of him. It hadn’t been a direct rejection, after all. “I’ll escort you back there, then,” he informed her. 

She gifted him a shy smile and stopped in front of a brilliantly lit shop. He read the storefront sign with narrowed eyes. Madam Primpernelle’s Beautifying Potions. 

“You can wait, if you want. I’ll be quick.” She turned to open the door, but he caught her upper arm. 

“You don’t need any of it, you know.” His eyes traveled over her face, his gaze solemn. She was a goddess when she applied her makeup and subdued her hair, of that there was no doubt. But he found himself undeniably drawn to her as she was now: an open and honest natural beauty with delicious responses to him. 

But her brows furrowed and a haunted pain registered in her gaze as she tugged her arm from him and entered the shop. 

Hermione quickly snagged her favorite hair products and makeup essentials. She used a combination of potions and charms when she was preparing for a snazzy event. And, yes, she needed them. How dare he suggest otherwise? He wouldn’t even be there with her if she hadn’t utilized them the night of the masquerade. She paid quickly and shrank her purchases so that she could tuck them into her bag. 

She exited and found him leaning against the bricks to the side of the shop. He instantly straightened and held out his arm to her, and with a thud of her heart she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and waited for the squeeze of Apparition.

They appeared at the bottom of the steps to 12 Grimmauld Place. Despite the fact that her nerves were absolutely shot, Hermione found herself saddened that the day was over. She’d enjoyed spending it with him, and even though she didn’t want to get her hopes up, she couldn’t help but hope he had enjoyed the day with her, as well.

“Thank you for accompanying me today,” she told him sincerely. “And for what you said to the Weasleys. You were brilliant. Harry’s going to be over the moon to hear they’ve changed their minds about attending.” She squeezed his arm. “I’ll see you on Sunday.”

Severus captured her hand before she could slip it from his arm. He raised it to his lips and leisurely brushed a kiss over her knuckles, his gaze locked on hers. 

“We’ve danced around this quite enough,” he informed her, watching her lips part in breathless anticipation. “You will not escape me again, Hermione.” He cupped her cheek and caressed her bottom lip with his thumb. “On Sunday, I will finish what I started at that infernal masquerade.” He dipped his head, his next words breathed against her lips. “On Sunday, you _will_ be mine.” 

He took possession of her mouth, easily slipping his tongue in between her lips to meet hers, kissing her deeply. Her soft sigh whispered through him, and he seriously considered hoisting her over his shoulder like a bloody Viking and taking her to an empty room in Grimmauld. He drew upon all his strength and retreated from her, nipping her bottom lip as he went.

“Goodnight,” he said with a sensual smirk, before Apparating away. 


	6. VI

* * *

She’d tried very hard not to cry, but she was too much like her mother, who would get inexplicably blubbery before the ceremony had even begun. Watching Harry and Draco bond was an incredibly emotional experience. It had been a roller coaster ride, having to keep their secret for so long, then championing them, and then rigorously planning their wedding and reception. She was exceedingly relieved it was coming to a close, except that now she had a dreadful feeling that she wouldn’t be seeing much of the dark wizard who’d melted her insides.

She’d wrestled with herself tirelessly the previous nights, wondering if she could open herself up to him for one night and be capable of walking away in one piece afterward. She’d never been a one-night stand kind of girl, but he seemed to be an exception to every rule, and this was no different. She wanted him; wanted his hands and mouth all over her body, and he had every intention of giving it to her. She had finally come to the conclusion that it would hurt much more to deny him - and herself. Afterwards, if he wanted nothing more to do with her, at least she would have tonight. 

Her gaze had roamed over him hungrily as he arrived for the evening’s festivities. His had done quite the same, devouring her as if she were laid bare before him. Merlin, but the man knew how to arouse her. Taking his arm to walk down and stand beside Harry and Draco had sent ripples of excitement through her body. He was warm, strong, and sure, and his murmured, “You are exquisite,” had sent heat rocketing straight to her core.

Now, as she took his arm again, Harry and Draco having finished their bonding to the applause of the gathered crowd, he handed her his handkerchief and she took it gratefully. 

“I tried not to cry,” she told him sheepishly, a smile playing at her lips. “I can’t believe it’s all over.”

His dark eyes roamed over her face. “It’s only just begun,” he corrected her, velvet voice overwhelming her senses.

She subconsciously bit her bottom lip and his gaze caught and held there. Swallowing with difficulty, she extracted herself and returned his handkerchief. “I’ll return shortly,” she said, heading towards the ladies’. 

Luckily, she only needed one glamour charm to get herself right after her sobfest. She observed herself in the mirror as she took deep breaths, and contemplated herself carefully. _Maybe I could be like this all the time,_ she thought inwardly, coaching herself. _This is what he wants… it’s not a hardship, I could do it, and then maybe he would stick around…_

She glared at her reflection, which thankfully was not a magical one. “I will not change who I am for anyone,” she announced resolutely. She enjoyed dressing up on special occasions, and certainly the attention was nice, but she abhorred the pressure of having to be done up all of the time, and it was not who she was. 

_Stop now,_ she chastised herself. _Enjoy tonight and worry about tomorrow later._ It went against everything she was, but she would try her best.

Severus observed her troubled countenance as she exited the ladies’. Clearly she was distressed by something, but when she spotted him she sent him a brilliant smile. It went straight to his cock, which had already been eager to see her from the moment he’d arrived. She was a vision, in a bright silver dress that hugged her curves and fell just past her knees. He missed the length of her legs but the dip in the back, showcasing a glorious expanse of smooth skin, more than made up for it. Her hair was swept up and pinned, inviting his greedy mouth to the delicate curve of her neck. He felt barely composed, but he’d used his skill with Occlumency to give him just enough control to get through the evening. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her.

She was intercepted on her return to him by well-wishers, and before he even realized what was happening he was set upon as well. He resisted the urge to sneer at the observations on his appearance for the evening; he’d garnered quite a few glances and a serious amount of praise which was foreign and slightly uncomfortable. Witches were coming out of the woodwork in their attempt to captivate him; he hadn’t even realized how many single friends Draco and Harry had. Whereas he would normally endure their inane chatter for the sake of a possible bedding later, he found himself highly agitated and longing for the company of Hermione.

“Sorry,” she murmured as she rejoined him. “This was a much better turnout than anticipated.” Her pointed look implied he had a great deal to do with it. 

He inclined his head, acknowledging her subtle tip of the hat to him for his role in the increased numbers. “Do you have time for a dance, before you bury your nose in your inventory checklist?” he teased.

“Mrs. Malfoy… er… Narcissa, that is, she insisted on offering her house elves. So I actually think we’re okay to just…” She smiled softly, a hint of shyness entering her voice. “To just enjoy ourselves.”

His dark eyes glittered at her. “Well then,” he said, gripping her hand, “let’s.”

They took to the floor and he pulled her in close, his hand splayed across her lower back, branding her skin. He remembered their heated first dance together, at the masquerade, where he’d marveled at how perfectly their bodies fit together. Her soft curves melded against the hard angles of his body, her head tucking just under his chin. He’d never felt so content with a witch against him. He wanted her with an all-consuming desire, but he had to admit to himself that something had changed; that desire wasn’t the only component at play, that he wanted more from her than he’d originally sought.

As his thumb traced back and forth over her tailbone, she shivered. He pulled back slightly to look down at her. “Are you cold?” he asked, a knowing smirk on his face. When she shook her head and tucked it back under his chin, he continued in a murmur, “That is surprising, Miss Granger, considering the indecent amount of skin on display here.” His fingertips slid up and down her spine, just barely skimming her skin, and he felt her breath hitch. 

“I find myself… quite hot, actually,” she replied, her warm breath fanning across his neck. 

He lowered his head, his lips ghosting over her cheek as he breathed against her ear, “Do I make you hot, Hermione?”

The song came to an abrupt end, and as she was drawing back from him, a bespectacled face appeared over her shoulder. 

“May I cut in?” Harry asked, smiling widely. Severus scowled at him but allowed the newly married young man to take Hermione’s hands in his.

Hermione watched Severus walk away and let out a shaky breath as Harry began to expertly sweep her around the dancefloor. He had always been her favorite dance partner, but now someone else was usurping his claim. She told Harry so and he grinned. 

“Draco thinks you will be good for each other,” he told her, and his grin disappeared as his serious gaze roamed over her face. “I’m not totally convinced. I imagine he’s a lot to handle.”

She gave a mock gasp. “And I’m not?!”

He laughed, his unique green eyes merry. “That you are.” He adjusted his glasses and spun her out and then back to him. “You know… I’ll always be here for you. The way you’ve been here for me. I can never thank you enough-“

“Don’t start,” she told him firmly. “I did what any sister would do.”

He beamed at her and bussed her cheek. As the song ended, Ginny approached and asked Harry for the next dance. Hermione happily left them to it, exceedingly glad that the two had been able to remain friends after their breakup. She and Ron had managed the same, and she was grateful for the lack of animosity among all of the friends she’d grown up with as their lives changed in various ways. 

She spotted Neville at the punch bowl and made her way to him, engaging in comfortable small talk. He and his wife Hannah were expecting a baby shortly, he revealed with pride. Hermione felt a strange pang of longing, but ignored it and kept her smile in place. 

A large, calloused hand touched her lower back, and she jumped slightly. She saw Neville’s face go white, and he abruptly excused himself. She turned and frowned up at a smirking Severus. 

“You should be ashamed at the pride you take in scaring people to death,” she chastised him. 

“And yet, I’m not,” he said, unrepentant. He arched his eyebrow, his eyes glittering wickedly. “I don’t seem to scare you any longer.”

She couldn’t help the furrow of her brow, and positively hated the thud of her heart against her rib cage. “On the contrary,” she replied, barely above a whisper, “you scare me a great deal.”

A confused expression marred his features, and quickly morphed into one of concern, but before he could respond, an airy, masculine voice called out to him.

“Ah! Severus!” A flash of orange, and it was deja vu all over again as Xenophilius stepped in front of them. “And Hermione Granger! Well isn’t this a meeting written in the stars. Hermione, Severus and I are going in search of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack soon. We shall need your help in getting it into the country!” 

Hermione’s eyebrows practically soared into her hairline in surprise. “Is that right?” She eyed Severus over her drink, her lips curving in amusement. 

“In a single one of its toenails you will find the potency of ten potions ingredients combined!” Xenophilius announced animatedly.

She gasped in response, playing along with the eccentric wizard’s insane ramblings. “Really? In its toenails?” Severus was glaring at her, and she struggled mightily to contain her laughter.

“Yes!” Xenophilius practically vibrated with excitement, hopping lightly from one foot to the other. “When we have finally found one, I will attempt to capture it using a specially-built contraption I have devised. Severus may trim it’s toenails while I make my observations. I should like to bring one back with us, but will need the help of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.” 

“Naturally,” Hermione agreed, taking another sip of her drink.

“I have not yet agreed-” Severus began, but was cut short by Xenophilius waving his hand dismissively. 

“Codswallop!” Xenophilius countered. “We’ve just received permission from Hermione and she’s making special arrangements for us; surely you wouldn’t treat that with such disregard!”

Hermione frowned up at Severus, batting her eyelashes. “Surely you wouldn’t, Severus,” she said with a pout.

Severus clenched his jaw tightly, staring down his prodigious nose at the witch who was turning his life upside down. She smiled sweetly at him and he cursed inwardly. 

“Very well,” Severus groused, hardly believing the situation in which he was finding himself. “I am currently in between research projects; I have two weeks before I will need to begin the next, which will detain me the remainder of the summer.”

Hermione’s eyes widened at his capitulation, and her lips tilted up at the corners, her brow arching at him. A tic had started in his cheek, and as amused as she was, she could hardly let him follow through with such a thing. He’d likely return as nutty as Xenophilius. 

“Oh, but Severus,” Hermione gasped, laying a hand on his forearm as if suddenly remembering something of great import, “you promised to care for Draco’s… ferret, while he’s on his honeymoon.”

Severus’ eyes rounded so widely she could’ve choked on her laughter, but she did her best to remain composed as she watched him struggle to respond.

“A ferret, you say?” Xenophilius inquired with interest. “Is it a magical being?”

“I wouldn’t call it that, no,” Hermione replied quickly. “It’s a bit of a dull-witted creature, unfortunately. Draco trusts very few to watch after it when he’s away.” She gave Xenophilius a regretful smile. “I will still be available to help you bring your Snorkack into the country, if you do find one.” 

Xenophilius sighed dejectedly. “I suppose I can do the trimming myself.” He looked hopefully at Severus. “Shall I still send you the toenails for your potions?”

Severus inclined his head. “But of course.”

The eccentric wizard clapped his hands excitedly and turned, distractedly informing them he needed to find Luna. 

Hermione tilted her head up at Severus, her cinnamon eyes alight with humour. “What a shame you will miss such an incredible opportunity,” she teased. 

“Witch,” Severus growled, stepping closer to her, towering over her forebodingly, “you could try the patience of a saint.”

“Well,” Hermione countered in a lazy drawl, “it’s a good thing you aren’t one.”

He gave her a mock glare and she laughed softly, genuinely amused, biting her lower lip to hold back the guffaw that wanted to escape.

Beefy arms suddenly encircled her from behind and hoisted her up, and she squeaked in surprise. “‘Mione!” she heard Ron greet her enthusiastically. 

“Ronald! Put me down!” she insisted, cheeks flushing. She’d told him to stop that - he was married now, and she would hardly appreciate it if she had a husband who greeted another woman in such a way, especially an ex-girlfriend. She was also deeply embarrassed that he’d done it in front of Severus, whose face had gone from dangerous and sexy frustration to pure stoicism. She turned and put her hands on her hips.

Ron lifted his hands placatingly. “Okay, sorry. But you’re a sight for sore eyes at this batshit to-do.”

Severus felt his body tense uncomfortably, observing their exchange. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Draco extending his hand, Severus took it in a strong handshake. Draco led him toward the stage on the other side of the dancefloor, and Severus frowned. 

“Draco,” he said warningly.

“The best man always gives a speech,” Draco implored.

Severus stopped short, his feet glued to the floor. “I have given enough speeches to last me a lifetime,” he bit out. 

Draco seemed surprised at his bitter refusal. “Okay, okay. We’ll get Hermione to speak, then. What’s got your wand in a knot?” His grey eyes flicked behind his godfather to where he’d retrieved him, and saw Hermione laugh at something the red-headed buffoon had said. “Ah,” Draco murmured in understanding. 

Severus willed his face to remain impassive. She was just a silly witch. She, nor anyone else, would ruffle his emotions. It was unacceptable.

“She’s yours for the taking, you know,” Draco told him, voice low so that others around them could not overhear. “Harry says she has never responded to a wizard the way she responds to you.”

“She’s insufferable,” Severus sneered, but there was no conviction behind his words. Not only was she not insufferable, he found himself wanting to suffer a lot more from her. He was naturally distrustful, and though wanted to take Draco’s words as truth, he still wondered if it could be possible. There was no doubt the witch responded to him in all the right ways, but how could he hope to hold her attention? Hermione was young, vibrant, and had her whole life ahead of her; he was battle-scarred, weary, and had no desire to be tied down at this stage in his life.

_What the fuck, Severus?_ he scolded himself. _You’re going to bed her, not propose to her. Get yourself together, man._ But he had a knot in his stomach as he realized she had become so much more to him than his next conquest. 

“Oh, bloody hell,” Draco cursed. “Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are in a glaring contest with Father.” He moved forward, and Severus followed. Diffusing the tension would give him something to do, rather than stew in his traitorous thoughts. 

But by the end of the night, he was having serious doubts. At some point, he’d begun to genuinely care for Hermione, and sleeping with her would surely only complicate that. He had no desire for his life to grow complicated. He’d had a complicated life for far too long, and he had been blissfully free of it for four years. He refused to allow anything - even her - to get in the way of that freedom.

But then she approached him, breathless from her vigorous dancing with a group of her friends, her hand clasping over his forearm as she invited him to dance to the now slow, sultry song. He was lost. Lost in her cinnamon eyes, lost in the escaped tendrils curling around her face, lost in her radiant smile at his agreement. 

“This is to be the last song,” she informed him, her hand resting daintily on his shoulder as he held the other one to his chest. “I’m sorry we didn’t have more of an opportunity to dance together. It’s all gone by so fast, hasn’t it?”

Severus didn’t think so, but then he wasn’t fond of social events, and he was in an exceedingly cranky mood. He’d waited so long for her, and now she was in his arms and the party was at its end and he was feeling fucking ridiculous for letting his emotions get the better of him.

“Not fast enough,” he retorted bitterly. He lowered his hand from her upper back, sliding down to rest over her tailbone so that he could pull her closer. “I have been waiting for the end of this blasted wedding for days,” he murmured against her hair.

He could feel her body tense, and she leant back to look up at him.

“Severus, I-”

“Do not think to deny me,” he warned her, his dark eyes glinting dangerously. “I have ached for you, and I will have you.”

She swallowed delicately and wet her lips. “I was just going to ask… your place, or mine?”

His hold on her tightened, and he drew her body flush to his. “Yours,” he responded, his silken voice setting her nerve endings aflame.

“Now?” she asked, gazing up at him intently.

“Now,” he stated firmly. “Before I go mad.”

She Apparated them to her flat, and it was only after they’d landed in front of her fireplace that she realized she hadn’t bid anyone goodbye. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

* * *

“Can I… get you something?” she asked breathlessly, not meaning for it to come out suggestive, but it certainly had, if the flare of his nostrils was any indication. 

He nodded in response, his hungry gaze devouring her.

“Tea?” she ventured with a shy smile as she moved toward him.

He shook his head, still holding her gaze, and inched forward to meet her in the center of the room. He lifted his hand and trailed the backs of his fingers over her jaw, sliding down to cup her chin and tilt it upwards to meet his descending lips. He pressed a tender, gentle kiss to her mouth, belying his fierce desire. Just as she began to move her lips against his with a soft sound of delight, he retreated and moved back from her.

Hermione trembled as he moved to prowl around her, pulling her silvery robe down and off her shoulders as he went, revealing the fine satin of her dress. She felt increasingly lightheaded, hyper aware of the heat emanating from him, of her body yearning for his touch, of the heat building between her legs. She wasn’t inexperienced by any means, but she had never, ever been the recipient of such calculated sensuality, and it was overwhelming her senses.

Severus stepped up behind her, his large hands gliding down her bare arms as his lips ghosted across her hair. “ _Finite_ ,” he whispered, and the pins holding her wealth of curls fell to the floor, her hair cascading in wild waves around her shoulders - just the way he’d come to prefer it. He swept the length of it over one shoulder, and bent to brush a kiss against the nape of her neck, moving his lips leisurely across her exposed flesh, flicking his tongue out to taste her skin.

With a soft sigh, Hermione’s head fell back against his shoulder, and he could feel her knees go weak as she leaned against him. He smirked against her skin, and wrapped his arms around her waist, nuzzling into her neck as her hand reached back to tangle in his hair.

“I know what I want,” he murmured, his lips skimming against the shell of her ear, causing her to shiver. “But tell me, Hermione,” he breathed, palms splayed across her abdomen, “what do you want?” His teeth edged along her earlobe enticingly. 

She closed her eyes, trying to still the rapid tattoo of her heart. His velvet voice was the male version of a siren’s call; she could not resist him. 

“I want... “ She took a deep breath and turned to face him, meeting his heated gaze with her own. “I want to touch you.”

His dark brow lifted, and she nearly whimpered. 

“Then touch me,” he encouraged, extending his arms out invitingly. “Wherever you wish.”

_Everywhere,_ she thought hungrily, but started by lifting her hands to his collar and untying his cravat. She worked her fingers down the buttons of his dress shirt, and pushed it off of him to pool on the floor at their feet. Her throat went dry as she bared his chest to her view. Sparse black hair scattered over ivory skin, beneath which lay his prominent but lean musculature. Various scars crisscrossed along the planes of his chest, the most shocking being the one at the top that started just above his collarbone and traveled along his neck. She reached out and traced her fingers over the healed tears, noticing his eyes closing as she did so. She lifted on tiptoe to kiss the ragged scars, pleased when he released a soft groan.

Her hands slipped across his shoulders and stroked down his hard chest, over his nipples and down to dip across his narrow waist, before journeying back up to start all over again.

Severus steeled himself against the delicious torture of her hands moving over him so reverently, yet with a hunger that seemed out of control. She wanted him, just as badly as he wanted her. As her small, gentle hands swept down, following the thin trail of hair until she hit the line of his trousers, he knew he needed to take control before he completely lost all composure. He’d waited far too long to have her, and he felt nearly savage in his need for her beguiling body.

She was working his fly open when he halted her, capturing her wrists and holding them out and away from his body.

“Your room,” he demanded, voice rough with desire.

Her cinnamon eyes burned with yearning, and he imagined his must have mirrored hers. She took his large hand in hers, and led him toward her bedroom, her hair fanning out around her, appearing as some silvery nymph come to lure him away.

As she came to a stop at the end of her bed and began to turn toward him, he halted her by holding fast to her hips. She stood, breathing shallowly, completely at his mercy, wanting him with every fiber of her being. In years past, she had often wondered what it would be like to have his undivided attention; now that she had it, she wasn’t quite sure she could handle it. He was the most intense person she’d ever met. She was never going to be the same after this, but she could hardly think about that now. She could hardly think of _anything_ now.

His hands drifted up her back to the zipper on her dress, and he slowly, tantalizingly, drew it down, his fingers skimming her spine as the material parted. His lips followed, mouth brushing over her warm skin as he eased the dress down her body. She felt him crouch behind her, as he directed the dress over her hips; it whispered down her legs to pool at her feet. 

Severus rested his temple against her lace-encased derriere as he deftly unbuckled the dainty straps of her heels and slipped them from her feet. She was perfection. Her softness was torturous, and he felt as if his cock was a battering ram against the seam of his trousers. Her delighted gasps and sighs and soft moans were going to drive him mad. But he was determined to take his time, to savour every moment while exploring her body for the first time. 

“Please,” she entreated faintly, and he saw her legs tremble, a sure sign that her knees were going weak.

His smirk was wicked, and his hands slid up from her ankles, over her calves, to her thighs, and he gripped them before he turned his head and bit into the lower half of her arse, bared by the skimpy knickers she wore. She gasped and reached back to steady herself on his shoulder.

“Please… what?” he questioned, rising to stand tall behind her.

She spun and braced her hands on his chest, standing on tiptoe to press a kiss to his jawline. “Please, stop torturing me.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body urgently to his. “I can’t endure much more.”

He growled at the feel of her, his hands stealing down her back until he gripped her hips. “But you will,” he insisted silkily, and lifted her, shifting to the left and depositing her across the bed.

“Severus, please!” she implored, holding her arms out to him.

“Oh, how I’ve dreamt of hearing you beg,” he told her, liquid voice dripping like molten chocolate. He held her gaze as he lowered his body over hers, nestling between her open legs. It was like coming home.

She swept his hair back from his face, her fingers tangling in the inky strands and tugging gently. He obliged her, dipping his head to claim her mouth, skating his tongue across the seam of her lips before plunging forward, meeting her own passionately. She tasted of champange and hazelnut cake, and he groaned into her mouth as he plundered it ravenously. 

Hermione’s dainty little feet were stroking up and down the backs of his calves, her lower half arching against him most enticingly, rocking eagerly against the rock hard bulge still restrained within his trousers. One of her hands skimmed down his back, her nails lightly scratching a path over his hip until she could delve between them and cup the hard length of him in her hand.

A low growl escaped him. “No,” he admonished, shackling her wrist and pulling her arm away. His lips ghosted down her neck, and he nipped her sharply.

“Yes,” she insisted, darting her other hand between them and clutching the buttons of his trousers.

He sucked at her collarbone, causing her to cry out as he bruised the flesh there with his teeth, tongue and lips. Severus released a dark chuckle and appropriated her other hand, drawing both upwards and pinning them above her head. He lowered his head and whispered an incantation against her skin. She barely had time to register that he’d Vanished her undergarments before his lips encircled her stiff nipple, drawing the puckered bud into his mouth and rolling it along his tongue.

“Bloody Merlin,” Hermione whimpered, arching into him. He lavished her nipple and areola with the attentions of his adept tongue and lips, and just when she thought she couldn’t handle anymore, he shifted to the other to repeat his ministrations with equal fervour. She could feel her own wetness trickling down her inner thighs, hardly believing the dizzying level of arousal he’d incited in her.

“Severus,” she called urgently, wantonly writhing against him, “I can bear no more.” 

“You can, and you will,” he assured her in a deep rasp against her breast.

She tried wrapping her legs around him, but he was slithering down her body, pressing hot, wet kisses to her quivering stomach, nipping her hip bone, nibbling along her mons. Her breath hitched in her throat as she realized his goal, and completely stopped as his gifted tongue suddenly stroked up the length of her slit.

“Oh fuck!” she cried, reaching down to twist her newly-released hands into his hair. 

He found her clitoris and captured it with his lips, sucking at it gently before fiercely undulating his tongue against the bundle of nerves. She moaned with complete abandon, feeling a rolling tightness within her, and bucked her hips helplessly as he thrust his tongue into her aching opening. 

“Please, Severus, I’m going to come,” she wailed desperately.

“I’m counting on it,” he hummed against her clit, the vibrations startling her. He attacked the bud mercilessly until she screamed and stiffened against him, gripping his hair tightly as she came. 

His dark head lifted and he met her glazed eyes, supreme satisfaction etched across his face. 

“You were wet before, witch,” he purred, rising over her. “Now, you’re positively soaking. And I can no longer resist your hot, wet cunt.”

“Bloody fucking hell,” Hermione whispered, eyes wide. Those words, in his voice? She shuddered beneath him, realizing as she felt the heavy, solid length of him that he’d wordlessly Vanished his pants. She gaped at her first view of his formidable cock, her mouth watering. She licked her lips, eyes gleaming, and he took note of it with a wolfish grin.

“I’ll collect on that obvious invitation at a later time, love,” he promised wickedly. He undulated his hips to settle his velvety length between her folds, and used his hand to glide his shaft up and over her pulsing clit, causing her breath to catch in her throat. “I’m going to make you mine now, Hermione,” he stated, his swollen helmet poised at her entrance. “Are you ready?” He shot her a sensual smile as he asked the rhetorical question.

“So very ready,” she panted, as her hands gripped his buttocks, fingernails digging in to urge him forward just as she arched up to meet him.

He sheathed himself to the hilt, and they simultaneously released long, pleasured groans. 

Gods, but he filled her completely, and then some. She was incoherent with the feel of him within her, invading her body in the most delicious way. His forehead lowered to rest against hers, his hair tickling her cheeks as he inhaled deeply. She realized then that he had restrained himself for too long, and he was valiantly attempting not to spend prematurely. She smiled wickedly and clenched her inner walls around him, causing a tortured sound to escape his throat.

His head lifted, and there was a dangerous glint in his obsidian eyes. “Minx,” he growled, and pulled back to thrust powerfully into her heat, causing her to mewl loudly.

He made love to her, taking his time to caress her tight heat with his cock, withdrawing and returning with a languid rhythm, until he felt the top of his head would explode with the pressure he’d built. Then, encouraged by her endless whimpers, beseeched by her moans, he leaned down over her until his chest was flush with hers, and whispered against her lips, “Wrap your legs around me, love.” 

His mouth seized hers in a bruising kiss as she obeyed his command, locking her ankles at the base of his spine with a faint moan. He slid his hands up her back and curled them over her shoulders, giving him the leverage he needed to further plunder her slick depths. He advanced ever deeper, groaning at the feel of her tight channel clutching him. His sure, inexorable drive into her had him grinding furiously over her most sensitive spot, just as the sparse hair of his chest was abrading her nipples, and she was slowly shattering in his arms. 

As he felt her contracting around him, his hand shot out and gripped the headboard above her, and his movements quickened; he lost all control as she screamed his name and clamped down on his cock. He climaxed with a triumphant roar, filling her to the brim with his seed, convinced it was the most spectacular release he’d ever experienced.

He nearly collapsed atop her shuddering body, but managed to fall just to her side, pitching onto his back and trying to recover his breath. He glanced over at Hermione to find her staring up at the ceiling in awe, a pleased smile curling her lips. It occurred to him that there was absolutely no way in hell he could ever get his fill of this witch, and he castigated himself for ever thinking differently.

Severus Snape had met his match. 

“Come here,” he murmured, drawing her to him. The revelation stunned him, and he wasn’t sure he could properly handle it. 

Hermione turned to face him, and he was staggered by the raw emotion burning in her eyes. He watched, hypnotized, as she lifted her hand and trailed her fingers over his cheekbone, caressing him softly with a sad smile.

His hand wrapped around her wrist. “The last time you did that, you fled from me.” He frowned at her, stroking the delicate skin of her inner wrist with his thumb.

“There were masks last time, and I was hiding from you.” Her smile turned sheepish. “I thought you wouldn’t want me.”

His other hand traced down her spine. “And now?” he questioned, brow raised.

She didn’t answer, choosing instead to rest her head on his chest and wrap her arm around his waist. Her silence coupled with the sadness he’d noted in her eyes was answer enough. He grimaced at the ache in his chest, but couldn’t help the feelings that invaded him so completely. How many times had he felt the insecurity of not knowing where he stood with those he dared to care about? He could not countenance that doubt plaguing his witch. 

“Will you stay the night?” she queried softly, almost inaudibly.

In a swift, sudden movement he rolled her onto her back, and captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Perhaps you’ve misunderstood me, Hermione,” he murmured, searching her eyes with his. “I have claimed you as my own.” His thumb brushed over her lower lip, swollen from their amorous endeavours. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Her cinnamon eyes widened, lighting with pure joy. “Oh,” she whispered, unable to articulate further, as much as her heart was bursting. A wide, brilliant smile spread across her face.

He smirked, pleased to have elicited such a reaction. “Am I to assume that you are in agreement?”

She nodded slowly, coiling her arms around his neck. 

As his head descended to bestow a passionate kiss upon her lips, he mused faintly that perhaps the masquerade hadn’t been such an infernal affair after all.


	7. Epilogue

* * *

Severus stood outside of the grand ballroom, scowling down at the black half-mask in his hands. For well over a year, he had held onto the thing like some sentimental fool, and now he was expected to don it again and attend yet another Malfoy Masquerade, this time hosted by the younger who truly was a sentimental fool. There was only one reason he was here, and she would certainly make it worth his while; though, having her go ahead without him and arriving an hour late so that he could finish an exceptionally important potion probably hadn’t done him any favors.

Steeling himself, he secured the mask onto his face and stalked through the doors, his piercing gaze sweeping across the room. He had become quite the expert at finding her immediately in a crowd. He tended to avoid such gatherings at all costs, but the little sorceress was keen to drag him to all manner of events. He had reasoned with himself that it was a small price to pay for what he received in return for his long-suffering once they were home. She was such an appreciative creature, after all. His eyes roamed over the overflowing ballroom for mere seconds before they settled on her. She stood near the dance floor, a familiar green velvet gown hugging her curves, an intricate bronze mask covering the upper half of her face, and a glass of red wine in her hands. His lips curved into a smirk. Perhaps there was more than one sentimental fool in attendance tonight. 

Severus made his way over to her purposefully. She was standing in a loose semi-circle with others, but on the edge of the group; even with the bronze mask covering the upper half of her face, he could tell she was tense. It was something he had noticed the first time he’d spotted her here. She seemed as if she just didn’t quite belong, as if she were above all of the simpering tripe of these over the top parties. And yet, she would always support her friends. He couldn’t fault her loyalty. 

He had nearly made it to her side when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning with a sneer, he met the pale grey eyes of Lucius, whose lips were curled in a moue of disgust.

“Where have you been?” Lucius hissed. “You are an hour late. I had hoped to make several new acquaintances by now. Draco, Harry, and even that little witch you pant after have refused to help me.”

“Not now,” Severus growled. “Have you forgotten why Draco insisted on this ball?” His eyes kept shifting to make sure his witch didn’t make a move. If he lost the element of surprise, he was going to soundly hex his old friend.

Lucius huffed and threw his hair over his shoulder. “I’d prefer to forget it, yes, but you always were a man of odd tastes.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “You may go,” he announced haughtily.

“Thanks ever so much,” Severus gritted through his teeth. _Pompous arse._ He inwardly shook off Lucius’ unpleasant arrogance and refocused his mind on the only thing that mattered. 

She was standing at the far end of the refreshments table, her back to him; a flare of ravenous lust arched through his body at the sight of the generous expense of skin showcased by her backless dress. Striding with sure steps toward her, he came to a rest a mere inch away. He watched as she stiffened and inhaled sharply, and then relaxed, as if she knew immediately who was behind her from his scent alone. 

Dipping his head, he placed his lips at her ear and murmured, “I daresay you look more delectable than any of this.” 

He smirked as he felt her whole body shiver in response. 

“How very bold of you,” she replied, a secret smile curving her lips as she glanced over her shoulder at him. Her cinnamon eyes glittered mischievously at him.

A dark brow arched over his mask. “Do I know you?”

“It is a masked ball,” she responded, her index finger tracing over the rim of her wine glass. “I can’t be certain.”

He trailed the backs of his fingers up the length of her spine as he lowered his voice to its deepest timbre and murmured, “Let me give you certainty.”

Suddenly, she twirled to face him, one of her hands coming up to push against his chest as her eyes blazed at him. “You promised me at least one dance,” she reminded him, dropping their façade in her haste to rebuke him.

Severus curled his fingers around hers. “So I did.” He led her to the dancefloor, relieved he’d not received a lambasting for his late arrival. He pulled her in close, splaying one hand at the small of her back while the other drew her hand to curl with his against his chest. She snaked her free arm up and around his neck, her fingers teasing through the hair at his nape. Their bodies, as ever, moulded perfectly to each other, resembling two joined puzzle pieces.

His eyes scanned the crowd, taking in the hungry gazes of the wizards watching them. A dark, triumphant laugh welled up inside him, but he tamped it down, settling for a smug smirk the likes of which would put Lucius to shame. _She’s mine,_ he thought to himself with pure pride.

“I seem to be the object of much jealousy,” he informed her, his lips brushing against her temple. He nodded in greeting to Draco and Harry, who were observing from the side with wide smiles. “How many have you danced with tonight?”

“A fair few,” she replied, unconcerned. “Not quite so many as last time. I’m afraid they fear the wrath of Severus Snape.”

He did laugh then, but his little witch was not amused. 

“Honestly, Severus, an hour of boredom wasn’t pleasant. Draco and Harry went to all this trouble for us, and-”

“Allow me to atone,” he interrupted, obsidian eyes searching her face. 

“How?” She appeared unconvinced, but her voice betrayed her interest.

He leaned down to whisper enticingly, “Come with me.”

She nodded her acquiescence mere moments before Severus turned and led her to the back of the ballroom, where he pulled her outside onto the familiar ornate balcony. She eyed the ivy draped across the marble railing and the intricate designs etched across the stone floors. As before, and as always, he was impatient to get his hands on her, and didn’t give her much time to survey her surroundings. He urged her back against the stone wall, pressing her to it as he took fierce possession of her mouth. He was elated to hear her resulting soft moan - no matter when and where he kissed her like this, she unfailingly moaned against his lips, and he always marveled at the responsiveness he provoked in her.

As her arms wrapped around his neck and she kissed him with desperate fervor, their masks scraped together unpleasantly. He unwillingly halted his plundering of her mouth, and stepped back to reach up and untie his mask. 

Her hands rushed up to stop him, wrapping around his wrists to bar his movement. He growled impatiently, and a soft laugh escaped her.

“I was just going to say,” she began appeasingly, “be sure to put it in your pocket. I’m afraid we shall have to go back in and attend our own party afterward.”

An amused half-smile crept across his lips as she removed his mask for him and tucked it into his inner jacket pocket, and then repeated the same action with hers. His hands massaged her waist, dark eyes gleaming with wicked intent.

“No running this time?” he teased, dipping his head to press open-mouthed kisses to the delicate curve of her neck.

Her tinkling laughter was her only response, as she tilted her head to the side to allow his lips better access to her sensitive skin. Her hand traveled down his chest, her nails lightly scraping over his nipples, over the taught planes of his stomach, and down to his belt. She moaned as he sucked at the skin just below her ear, and her hand rushed down to cup his burgeoning length, squeezing urgently.

Groaning against her shoulder, he nipped her before sliding his hands up the backs of her thighs and hauling her up the wall, pressing his hips forward to anchor her as he tugged her velvet dress down until her breasts spilled over the top. She gasped as the cool night air breezed across her nipples, then whimpered as Severus captured one in his hot mouth, the varying sensations overwhelming her.

“Severus,” she moaned, her head falling back against the stone wall. Her hands threaded through his black strands, gripping them in bliss at his ministrations. She clamped her thighs sharply around his waist, arching against him in wordless supplication.

He switched his attentions to her other breast, laving and sucking her taut nipple as one of his hands crept down her body. He lifted his head and angled his upper body back so that he could watch her face as his fingers shoved her knickers aside and found her slick center. Wicked satisfaction filled him as he plunged his middle finger into her smouldering sheath, and she cried out in abandon, frantically clutching at his shoulders.

A restless hunger consumed him, and he Vanished her knickers with a murmured word, then reached down to shove his trousers down his hips. One exquisite year he’d been bonded to Hermione, and yet he still had to possess her with a fervor that staggered him.

Her hand caressed his cheekbone, her cinnamon eyes burning with adoration for him, taking his breath away. “I love you, Severus,” she murmured.

He smiled then, an action that hadn’t been so foreign to him since she had come into his life. “And I, you, wife.” He gripped her hips and let her slide a fraction down the wall until his rigid length was poised at her entrance. “Happy anniversary, Madam Snape.” Then, with a sure, strong snap of his hips, he thrust inside her.

They groaned in unison at the ecstasy of their joining. He rocked deliciously against her as their lips and tongues met in a passionate frenzy, grasping one another tightly as they climbed ever higher in their search for release.

Digging his fingers into the full, supple globes of her behind, he angled her so that each time he surged into her, the head of his cock rubbed relentlessly against her g-spot. A soft keening cry echoed continuously from her, and he reveled in the sound, savoring his wife’s uninhibited response to his efforts.

“Come for me,” he growled against her ear, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot below it, which always drove her mad.

“Come with me,” she urged him, her nails digging into the nape of his neck. She clenched her tight heat so snugly around him then that he saw stars.

Their rapturous moans filled the air as they climaxed in tandem, the euphoria leaving them breathless as they held each other close and rode the waves of pleasure to utter completion. 

“I always wondered what would have happened if I hadn’t escaped you that night,” Hermione purred, unlocking her ankles and sliding down his body. “Remind me to thank Harry and Draco for presenting the opportunity to find out.”

After assisting each other in tidying themselves, they secured their masks back into place, and reentered the ballroom hand-in-hand to enjoy the remainder of the masked ball given in honor of their one year anniversary as Mr and Mrs Snape.


End file.
